Category Archives: Prose

I Don’t Wanna Work on Daddy’s Farm No More

Posted on January 17, 2025 by John Biscello

Nesting, she broodedon the future of free range–No claims to hold her. (Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)

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Disintegration (The Cure)

Posted on January 17, 2025 by John Biscello

No sitters to tend,solvent to its own winter–If these floors could talk. (Installation by Izumi Yokoyama)

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Girl, Interrupted

Posted on January 17, 2025 by John Biscello

The girl in the chairis no longer the girl in the chair,she is neither here nor there,she is always and forget-me-not,soul-spray and glacial uproarcausing a siege,she is the spidery patternsof her exploded heart,woven in to the ritual symmetryof a fibrous … Continue reading →

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Room to Dream

Posted on January 16, 2025 by John Biscello

Visionary, cinematic shaman, and iconconclastic creative force, David Lynch was one of the most profound influences and inspirations in my life, someone whose work impacted me deep in my core and could move me to tears. Truly and thoroughly one … Continue reading →

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He Who Gets Slapped

Posted on January 16, 2025 by John Biscello
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Scarecrow

Posted on January 15, 2025 by John Biscello
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Theme for a High School Dance

Posted on January 15, 2025 by John Biscello
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Lives in the Day Of

Posted on January 13, 2025 by John Biscello

One of my recent projects has been compiling stories and flash fiction into a collection titled: Lives in the Day Of. After selection, rewriting, and editing, the collection comprises twenty-two pieces, spanning the past fifteen years. Some of these works … Continue reading →

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Brooklyn Spleen

Posted on November 21, 2024 by John Biscello

We didn’t talk about it, but we knew we’d never amount to anything, no matter what we did. No matter how celebrated the accomplishment, no matter how big the fiction and the audience buying it, nothing could ever fill those … Continue reading →

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The Last of the Coojettes

Posted on November 21, 2024 by John Biscello

She was the Last of the Coojettes. That’s what Rob called her. Rob was my mother’s cousin. My father’s nickname for Rob was The Moron. Rob worked as a postman. My father worked as a truck driver for Budweiser. Rob … Continue reading →

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