To know myself,
a rogue aggregate
of loving atoms,
a happy shivering clusterfuck
of luminous baubles
banded together
to forge and assume
an alleged identity,
no papers or pulpit required,
to fulfill an arc, and heart-guided directives,
to be a kid, with a hymn-book,
and the keys to the kingdom,
for God knows how long,
then dispersion,
back to the warm bath
of light and sound,
and I
will no longer be I,
and though breaking up
is hard to do,
and this will be by far
the most challenging break-up
in my life,
I, me-less, will depart,
lightly, without going anywhere,
soul at play, lidless
in its capacity to contain grief
and love.

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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6 Responses to Autobiography

  1. This is very beautiful.
    I love the word clusterfuck
    And aw, your hat!


  2. I also loved your line about “passages easing their way into my forever place,” such a beautiful turn of phrase.

    Liked by 1 person

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