The Owl

The barn owl white with silent
opaque wisdom, gliding into minds and
watching—brothers, beware who roll
dice and attempt an intuition of the
future things—makes magnetic,
not inert or impenetrable the
chance that makes events,
today, tomorrow.
it knows and secret spies
our tears—the things that
thoughts avoid, and disguised
as wayward matrons, banshees,
Lilith saturated in sexual symbology,
also other children, crowned angels
actually demons and winged space farers,
they demand we look beneath and
analyse, as they
(spirits, figments, astral mages)
the mechanisms of
our rich and energising miseries,
our intuition of the owl, the dark corner
in which its world exists.

 

 

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!

 

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s