Category Archives: Prose

Anne Sexton

Posted on April 9, 2018 by John Biscello

It begins with a stopwatch, and a glass of water. The stopwatch belonged to her father, or to her father’s father. The glass of water is a joke. Imagine trying to remedy all that desert within, all that scabbing red … Continue reading →

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John Fante

Posted on April 8, 2018 by John Biscello

Inferiority might have been your first memory. Though you were born on American soil, Denver, CO, April 8th, 1909, the chinked chains of immigration had you by the throat and bowels, pinched your nerves as you butted your head against … Continue reading →

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Joan of Arc

Posted on April 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Enlightened, perhaps. God-engorged hormones, maybe. Regardless of why, Joan, you were the rebel prototype long before James Dean zipped up a red jacket, or Marlon Brando mumbled and curled his upperlip into a totem, before Louise Brooks and Josephine Baker … Continue reading →

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Denis Johnson’s Sea Maiden

Posted on April 5, 2018 by John Biscello

Review of Denis Johnson’s The Largesse of the Sea Maiden appearing in Riot Material. “Picture the sibilant music of blood-red sand shifting from one bulbous half of the hourglass to the other. Or black-and-white film footage, bearing a scarred geography … Continue reading →

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Sylvia Plath

Posted on April 4, 2018 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

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Growing Young

Posted on April 2, 2018 by John Biscello

I want to grow young with you, she said. It made perfect sense. People had it all wrong. You don’t grow old, your body, this borrowed vessel, it withers and ages and decays, your body grows old, your brain grows … Continue reading →

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What Fools May Come

Posted on April 1, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) I found a wooden table tucked away in a corner of the room which was directly opposite the Biographies section. I quickly learned that the table had a gimp leg and wobbled when I wrote. … Continue reading →

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Snapshot

Posted on March 29, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) Seven years later, reflecting upon an analytical snapshot held up to the light: Thirty-three, unemployed, a boatload of debt, drinking excessively, divorcee, amateur plumber of shit-clogged pipe dreams—when I got my head stuck up my … Continue reading →

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Meeting D.J.

Posted on March 28, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) I see you decided to join me. I didn’t want you to drink alone. We sat at an empty table flanking the wall. The band was now playing a mournful ballad.  Something about two lovers … Continue reading →

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Footfalls

Posted on March 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Not a simple feat, to follow one’s own footsteps– I, me, her, repeat.        

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