A yogin sits there

What’s really happening to me, crest of wave, ocean voyage,

Outline of faint blue, my meditation reflects on

The Big Bang, once began an apple was eaten

From a fallen tree, with its suburban branches

Stretching outward

To infinity, gods of pigs on clouds look down

Thru descended noses, sniffing my sexual feeling,

And then if I sat, and thought it was all just within

Me, the universe would be but a phone scam,

But it’s not, i know, cause from the nebulous blue, encompassed aura, there was you come

To be