Tag Archives: writing

Night

Posted on September 7, 2025 by John Biscello

At night I go out, scorched and empty. I pool inside myself all day, every day, a sipping and flooding, and then I carry this out with me into the night. There is a hissing that I can hear out … Continue reading →

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Beket

Posted on September 5, 2025 by John Biscello

My name is Beket. That’s my first name, and my last. My mother was going to name me Becky, after some character in a novel she loved, but when she saw how silent I was as a baby (she said … Continue reading →

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Bed

Posted on September 4, 2025 by John Biscello

I lie in wait. Hell is supposed to come anytime now. That’s what the others started calling that which was scheduled to come: hell. You would think that humans wouldn’t want to coordinate or administrate hell, but it seems they … Continue reading →

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Knife

Posted on September 1, 2025 by John Biscello

My sister says she doesn’t have many memories from childhood. When she looks back, there’s nothing there: a blank screen. I never asked her if she saw black or white in her absence of memories. One of her earliest memories, … Continue reading →

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Dinner

Posted on August 31, 2025 by John Biscello

   I waited. We waited. A storm was coming. It had to be. He had returned from rehab several days earlier, after having been gone for two months. My father had always born pouchy bags under his eyes, but there, … Continue reading →

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Voices of Taos

Posted on July 30, 2025 by John Biscello

It was good times getting to sip coffee in the radio booth with Lynne Robinson, as we created our “on-air cafe” and chatted about theater, movies, working with youth, the writing life, Patti Smith, and the scheduled release of two … Continue reading →

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Company

Posted on June 22, 2025 by John Biscello

I have always depended on the kindness of solitude to acquaint me favorably with the company of words.

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Glare

Posted on June 22, 2025 by John Biscello

We are dreamwalkers punctuated by reveries and long listless spells of want. Conjugal in our misgiven symmetries, our lives readily become us by frayed skeins of intimacy and sensual haunt.

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All That Jazz

Posted on April 4, 2025 by John Biscello

In the Beginning was the Be All End All, and from out of lidless silence and void emerged a beat, hailing another beat, and it wasn’t long before the Universe, speaking in tongues and verses, was percussin’ its ass off … Continue reading →

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Pilgrimage of the I

Posted on April 1, 2025 by John Biscello

A hatless pilgrim, roving this way and that, a man embodying the virtues of scat (in every sense of the word), wandering through starched cardstock fields in search of an impossible flower and its stingy nettles— proud, pistil-engraved, the flower’s … Continue reading →

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