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Whatever It Is This Is

written by: Eli Garcia

 

Space is amber and I trapped within no matter how I dance.
Time billows snaps behind drags me back past myself pushing forward.

End sprawled out ahead somewhere undetermined least by me.
Start back past my footprints tracking out of nothing cupping a thin story I hold so dear.

I am I think intellect grasping at the stars.
Can’t see past eternities what stares back out past me.

Weightless void-less silent dark processing stimuli streamed at an alarming rate.
More than naked touching every cell of the world raw with every cell of myself.

Striding volumes filled to bursting with infinite spaces.
Collapsed a point center expanse all that isn’t me.

Something is seen grasping at things mundane that can’t be touched or found.
Smelling touching tasting abstract wonders rough with dust and grain.

The stars shine themselves into every nook and cranny.
I shine look up and in view and viewer twine.

Light from every mote of time before joined in this beholder.
Painting murals grateful wonder on this I am I think for whatever it is this is.

Eli Garcia

Eli Garcia

I live reluctantly in Southern California where I alternately celebrate and dread the slow but constant change that becomes so much more pronounced in my life the older I get. My family includes my wife, who is my light and my storm, and my new daughter, who continues to surprise me daily with both her existence and her ability to stretch my capacity for love, and for terror, into previously unimagined territory. I occasionally garden, which I’ve learned to treat as a study in controlled chaos, only without the control. So, my life, like most, is generally full of hopes and dreams, successes and failures, aspirations, trial and error, peeves, inspiration, ignoring of mortality, doing stuff, not doing stuff, and occasionally standing in the backyard gobbling radish pods off the bush with my very excited toddler. A pebble on a beach with billions of other pebbles. Sometimes I write.
Eli Garcia

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