My thoughts appear as on a
Conveyor belt in front of me.
I sit some distance from them
And watch them pass.
I am allowed to choose which ones to
Discard
And which to pick off the track to examine
At my leisure.
In my own time.

The same old thoughts go around and around
Like suitcases abandoned at the airport carousel.
I leave those battered, tattered old cases.
I am managing very well without their contents.
I like to travel light.