Tag Archives: Prose

The Little People

Posted on September 30, 2017 by John Biscello

Just found out my story, “The Little People,” was nominated for Best of the Net. Audio-version of the story can be heard here, in Golden Walkman magazine.

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Gathered Crumbs from a Lost Cake

Posted on September 21, 2017 by John Biscello

Review of Elizabeth Ellen’s Person/a, appearing in Riot Material. “The poet, Robert Lowell, spoke about the best poems, the most personal ones, as being “gathered crumbs from a lost cake.” Elizabeth Ellen, in architecting a novel from “lost crumbs,” has … Continue reading →

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Ribbon

Posted on September 6, 2017 by John Biscello

The furls of music, In vitro seeding of keys– ribbons mused upon.  

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Golem

Posted on July 20, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from Nocturne Variations: I think, the bottom line, Piers, is that one’s protector is or can become one’s destroyer. Angels are monsters in wait, same as monsters are angels awaiting transformative context. The two are one and to divide … Continue reading →

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Six

Posted on July 9, 2017 by John Biscello

   I was six when I found out I’d never become a super hero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother and father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading →

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Flint

Posted on July 7, 2017 by John Biscello

   I also saw Anya on that trip, though our meeting was unplanned. I was on the subway platform waiting for the train when I spotted a thin girl in torn jeans and a bright green tank-top walking in my … Continue reading →

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Review of The Girl

Posted on July 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Review of Meridel Le Sueur’s The Girl, appearing in Riot Material. “The Girl is set in St. Paul, Minnesota, during the Depression, with much of its action centered in a speakeasy known as The German Village. This is where the protagonist, a … Continue reading →

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The Well

Posted on June 18, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from Nocturne Variations When Piers was six she fell into a well. The well was abandoned and no longer had any water in it. If there would have been water in it, Piers would have drowned. Sometimes she’d imagine … Continue reading →

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Digging for Air

Posted on June 11, 2017 by John Biscello

There was always plenty of tomorrow-talk, bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing. What we would do, where we would go, how we’d become this or that. We erected fragile monuments to ourselves, and expected others to pay their respects, … Continue reading →

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Birth of a Prologue

Posted on June 9, 2017 by John Biscello

   They say you can’t go home again. I don’t know who “they” are, but apparently this mysterious phantom collective is well-stocked in facts, aphorisms and guidelines.    I was going home again, to Brooklyn, though the notion of return, … Continue reading →

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