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Jim Ciccolini

The chapter that's never written
in my autobiography,
when temporality's smitten
and my soul is finally free.

This timeless, placeless epilogue
where pages have no existence...
a place above the blinding fog,
and beyond the world's resistance

Where was I before this took place,
at my home or rotting in jail?
It matters not, now out in space;
I've pierced the worldly veil.

I remember now: once, I'd strive;
tears I had wept and blood I bled,
but never had I been alive
as am I now that I am dead

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