Anne Woodborne

Deeper than I think

Deeper than I think,
I fall through layers of self,
through the back door of busy mind,
the perpetual motion machine.
I land in an unknown place
where deep silence
and the vastness of being waits.
I have escaped the chattering monkey mind.
Here in the graveyard of self,
rudderless, I write, falling
deeper than I think.
In an ocean of consciousness
with pen in hand, I escape
the tentacles of cliché,
waiting for my muse.

Waiting for my muse,
I escape the tentacles of cliché
with pen in hand
in an ocean of consciousness.
Deeper than I think,
rudderless, I write, falling
here in the graveyard of self.
I have escaped the chattering monkey mind.
The vastness of being waits
and deep stillness.
I land in an unknown place
through the back door of busy mind,
the perpetual motion machine.
I fall through layers of self,
deeper than I think.

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One comment on “Anne Woodborne

  1. this poem works so well, anne. I love the chattering monkey mind; we all know it so well. As well as the graveyard of the self. Well done! Nella

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