Short Poem of the Day — Monday, November 28, 2022
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The Cowl
I went to the black holes flipped in my NREM-3 sleep
with the idea that the ideation hadn’t started,
An event horizon, bedrock in a lure, sediment, a stare down the steepest of wells
Gouging at a window, waking up to entropy,
Cartesian light, onto genesis, was light, and the escapism
Of the world,
The many names, the many faces, the remains,
Going forward, and no literacy, just dashes, no literacy to the passes,
I dreamt, frequently were I hooded by a cowl,
Nowhere found in the waking day
Promise Neverland, somehow platonic,
New sheets unraveled to the shores of starry nights
from my waking coin breadth of entropy, like sand going down hill
Until, soon after, I dreamt that the coin
Piercing the windows, it wasn’t mine
And I was obliged to take part in a court of owls,
My hood, no longer a working conception, but I hovered with owls
With the strokes of a vast sky, lambent to the ember starting the breath of a console, I saw the colors that were exemplars of the terrain
But not under the umbrella of a cowl
Daylight beams in the light years,
From all that it can magnify,
Starry skies turn inward chanting dreams
Sounding blissful, just fine — the remnant
Undying and breadths like thine
fossil recordings
The Cowl returns as the fossil recordings
— convergences like dance across the sky
The buzzing stalks of color
