Category Archives: Prose

How Tomorrow Moves

Posted on May 11, 2016 by John Biscello

It was a matter of helium-speak, and tomorrow-talk, and bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing. We, hanging out on the street-corner, conducting ping-pong volleys and raps, ferocity and verve, building ourselves up—who we were and were not, what we … Continue reading →

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After Hours

Posted on May 10, 2016 by John Biscello

Lenny Bruce, seated on a chipped wooden stool, cigarette dangling from his lips, slumping forward, shoulders slack. His mouth puckers, the cigarette jumps to attention, he draws in fiercely, then exhales a series of bluish halos that float and dissipate. … Continue reading →

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Raising the Bar

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

   Dylan Thomas falls off his barstool in Heaven.    Lying on the sawdusty floor, he slurs something about a white horse. And chains, and the sea.    God, who gave Lucifer the night off, is tending bar. He comes … Continue reading →

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