MOORLANDS OF THE NOT

An anonymous poem

      CROSS the moorlands of the Not
      We chase the gruesome When;
      And hunt the Itness of the What
      Through forests of the Then.
      Into the Inner Consciousness
      We track the crafty Where;
      We spear the Ego tough, and beard
      The Selfhood in his lair.
       
      With lassos of the brain we catch
      The Isness of the Was;
      And in the copses of the Whence
      We hear the think bees buzz.
      We climb the slippery Whichbark tree
      To watch the Thusness roll;
      And pause betimes in gnostic rimes
      To woo the Over Soul.

"Moorlands of the Not" is reprinted from A Nonsense Anthology. Ed. Carolyn Wells. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1915.

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