on meditation

It’s boring to me, it isn’t necessary.
Not if you’re already looking,
fucking all around you.
The forcefulness of it all feels obligatory,
immediately offensive to the worlds

breathing around you
All of it combined into a singular

pulsation that ignites

like soaking in the mirror of the Sun,
the breeze of the Pacific hitting the back and front of you, but like it does back East and South,
Bahia Honda,
the electrifying cool and warmth that hugs us so desperately,
yearning for eternity for us


Worship it like it were a God.

Like cock,
it wishes for us to worship it for the God that it is,

powerless, all powerful and grateful,
the submission to the world meditation only dares to dominate.