The Meditative Space

Nothing but your own warm flesh
Blanketed by misfiring
The meditative space
Stretching and stilling
Allowing the ticks of muscle
Beat of heart and ease of breath
To pass and cycle
And then watch thoughts fly
Which can surprise
Order, alarm, please
Drift you off to sleep
To heal, to alter state
All in the shell
The gestalt form
And its energies
Processing, refining
Burning and spawning
With the thoughts roiling
Conscious and unconscious
The inhuman sensations
Of a human being left alone
And their sense of everything
With one’s own form.

By J.W.H. Hobbs.

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