Category Archives: Prose

Words and Silence

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

There’s no one left to finger, no one left to blame. Someone sang that. I wish I had sung that. I didn’t. I echo. I am echoes proliferating like genetically disturbed rabbits. Maybe neurodivergent rabbits copulating is a better term, … Continue reading →

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Road Test

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   I spent a great deal of my twenties canned inside the dank sweaty armpit of travel Americana: Greyhound. My longstanding affair with Greyhound was born from a blended cocktail of economics and innate romanticism. As a young man with … Continue reading →

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Premature Nostalgia

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   Ever since I can remember, I have been afflicted by what I call premature nostalgia. A simple definition of premature nostalgia: Mourning or grieving, or experiencing acutely a deep sense of loss, a profound wistfulness, ether before something happens … Continue reading →

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Paper Route

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   It’s hard when you live in a paper town. You see the other kids, the real ones, playing at the linen edges, the cloth borders, and you want to interact with them but you can’t cross over. There is … Continue reading →

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Daybreak

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

We forget vividly. Absence glares and ghosts inwardly, a brutal slate of charged pixels. We find ourselves shrinking and recoiling in the hospitable siege of light—projecting, wanting, myopic as the day is long. We question ourselves. We are changed. How? … Continue reading →

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Where the Sidewalk Ends

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

To no longer have memory is to exist in a state of vulnerable grace. It is the tenuous grace of having to function in the immediate present, the source of our greatest agitation, without referential orientation to archived past or … Continue reading →

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Flint

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

   I came across what was no longer there, and thought—Burning books isn’t so terrible. What is a far worse fate for books, what really transforms them into grave casualties: apathy.    Indifference and neglect of books is a much … Continue reading →

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Night Gig

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

   It is extraordinary, absolutely extraordinary that the world can end yet people will go on living. As if they never got the memo: World Over.    Perception is an absurd gambit. You never know what you’ll see and what … Continue reading →

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Girl in the Dark, Twice

Posted on November 28, 2025 by John Biscello

1.    A girl in the dark, in a corner, spitting out sunflower seeds, spitting out sunflower seeds into the dark.    Pppfft-pppfft, the sound her mouth makes when spitting, and the barely audible plip when the shells hit the … Continue reading →

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Causeless

Posted on November 28, 2025 by John Biscello

   We used to be called human, that is, our actions were considered human if we acted with compassion and mercy. Yet we have been killing and maiming and igniting wars since time immemorial … so isn’t that, based on … Continue reading →

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