Exist As


100 Words


Someone once told me, “either everything’s a miracle, or nothing is…”
I see infinity in every fingerprint whorl.
My lungs sing all the notes of breath.
I am.

My failing body, a slave to entropy, marvels at the strangeness of seeing.
And being.
Thousands of miles of blood cells racing to give me another chance to blink.
Without effort or down payment,
I am…
The sensation of fabric on skin on blood on thighs. Eyelashes and fingertips and scabbed knees and a million broken hearts…

I am
wannabe poetry. Collages and soccer games and cold beers.
It’s miraculous to me.


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