That Experience Anymore

never learned to sit up straight,

stop dragging feet,

stand up tall,

take deep breaths


nor want to live –


gave what there was to give

listening to Ramones

and let fine German steel

cut through a decade

doing for others

who could afford

such luxuries.


went way wrong

to catch

fall of stars

burning hands

too sore to realize


not sure if there’s more to meaning but when something wants to be seen it appears

ready and dressed

for a final moment.


then there’s those who pray

– cupcakes

– kittens

– puppies

– a pony

for well-endowed


who won’t waste hope

on weaker wants


life is long –

only slightly more so

than disappointment’s



the grounded.


without a silence


go on

– boxes

in trunks –

en route

to stranger parts.


there’s no way to exist in





I at Sea

Storm lightened sea in bursts. Close had no current meaning as shore was forgotten in breeze become attack on sails. As each took to a post, a pole, a rope, a task, spread away one from the other and from what lead the ship out this far.


The ‘we’ of the crew has become rhetorical. The teamwork is lost as instinct takes over. Where’s the solidarity in sinking?


Composure kept for the good times can’t be held together as one loses another. As you separates from I. The strength now become multiple singulars is outnumbered by factors beyond control. By elements finding new directions from which to attack.


How awake is one when closest to fears of the end? Or, is it instinct as close as one gets to the subconscious, underworld, underside of the psyche? The mind? Stuff of the Self?


There’s always something to be afraid of. More to fear than thought brought to mind.


Dark isn’t only for nights. It comes in clouds over sails. It comes to shirts mixed in sweat and rain. In will overcome with futility.


Crests fall as rain continues. A captain is not known for boosting confidence. Only for commanding emotions be set aside for necessity of task. For need of one and other intertwined in microcosm of a vessel alone at the whim of water and weather and life incapable of being anything other than what they are – untamed but built for the life being lived. Ready only for instinct and adapting as seamlessly as it seems to outsiders. Observers.

From the Superhero’s Diary by Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia

Sparks of Consciousness is seeking short prose of all kinds. Here’s just one example

Sparks of Consciousness

From the Superhero’s Diary


Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia

No question about it. I’m better than you. It’s what I do. You wouldn’t understand. I should be humble. Pride being a sin and all but I have the other six covered. Not a bad percentage. Better than yours I must say.

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