Samadhi

In this world of ultra-thin vibrations,
strange mirrors, intersections of curved planes,
it is so easy to lose yourself.
But it is even easier
not to find reasons to continue your own existing in x-y-z coordinates.

Led Zeppelin blues through your ears and head .
Psychedelia reaches the legs.
A sip of soda and then half a glass of whiskey with ice.
People, who are you?
And who am I?
Thunder in the valley.
The weather on Mars is great today.
Bradbury rests here and now.
He's tanned like a Ukrainian black bread,
napping on a deck chair.
Poor gear, he turned into a local
(I mean martian ) absolutely.

Carl-Gustav Jung warned^
"Don't go black under your skin,"
but the Yankees wouldn't listen.
Now they have spleen.
They are sorry to kill Donald Shimoda.
They've lost hope of salvation and enlightenment
with this stupid killing.

Amen!
Everyone has to choose for themselves if they understand where they are.
I wash my hands. I don't have breakfast.
I sit on the lotus with twine.
I'm concentrating on the top.
Reaching samadhi,
living here and now.