Melting in the cushion

Resting wearies

Finding stories

Floating through the sky

Broken into reality

Forming opinions

Jumping into the chaotic mess that perplexes me

Find certainty in the imagination and let it be

Pooping on all that has come and Defining every little question

Forming opinions

Tiring and craving curly lines go straight

To something digestible I can meditate on

Wondering again and again

Dear god the monster has arrived with quick concession

Pay a fee and hope for the best

Burn a candle

Prey, really or act!

Action in the tradition that has seen light?

Perhaps but darkness lurks behind the curtains

From the corners

And deep into the tragedy I go

Far from it! But my hateful eyes do gleam

Turning now to something else I shall see

Maybe a magic box

That goes pop

Concentration! Concentration!

Ah meditation!

Some peace at last


Should I hate

Alas no but hate does come in its stormy presence it blows away the good judgement

Ah now that’s close

The wind, the cursed bloody hate that has come from person that I wish to forget

The drudgery and pain

Turning point

Turning point

Step up

Step out

Let the pebbles hit the water and then you’ll skip ahead

We all can do it

Skip shit I mean walk

Walk on water

Here comes the hate again


Assuming, aassuming

Jumping and skipping

I want to walk every footstep

But in the right direction

Soft quite footsteps

Perhaps I’ll jump a few hurdles

Roses prickling and standing still.


– Garry O’Connor

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