John Biscello

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.