Tag Archives: Prose

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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Paper Trail

Posted on February 26, 2018 by John Biscello

Completed draft of my new novel, No Man’s Brooklyn. A return to childhood, to the source of ghosts, to Brooklyn roots.

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Super Hero

Posted on February 23, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    I was six when I found out I’d never become a superhero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother, and father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a … Continue reading →

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In Love and War

Posted on February 22, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    I dumped all my G.I. Joes out of the shopping bag and onto the pavement of the driveway. I separated the good guys from the bad guys, and then arranged them in specific positions. … Continue reading →

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Daniel and Anya

Posted on February 22, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    Anya melts onto her back.    Lie down with me okay?    I lie down.    Our sides are touching, barely, but enough.    You can’t see many stars tonight, Anya says.    Too … Continue reading →

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Henry, June, Anais, 2018

Posted on February 21, 2018 by John Biscello

Henry’s cell, his first ever, gave rise to a new breed of anxiety and impatience.    Fretfully awaiting Anais’s text, he stared at the dark electronic device cradled in his palm, and keenly felt pangs of nostalgia.    He recalled … Continue reading →

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Fictioning Anya

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

   (Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    Anya, Julia weighed the name softly on her tongue. Anya. Wait, she was the one they found in the trashcan when she was a baby, right?    The one and only.    Yes … Continue reading →

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Breathing Lessons

Posted on February 18, 2018 by John Biscello

   One night Anya and I were hanging out in my living room. My father was in Atlantic City. My mother was dead. Had been for almost three years at that point.    Anya and I had the place to … Continue reading →

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Father, I

Posted on February 12, 2018 by John Biscello

   I’ve been waiting for you to exist, I say to my father, even though he is not there.    What?    I’ve been waiting for you to exist, to become real. Me too.    What the hell are you … Continue reading →

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Sideshow

Posted on February 12, 2018 by John Biscello

   I, perched on a craggy promontory overlooking my childhood, and its entire formless geography, saw them, my friends, all of them: a mutant strain of cryogeny, a mummified quivering changelessness, as if youth hadn’t been properly lived through but … Continue reading →

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