Black Hood


originally published

When I fear– the dark, or cold, gunshots in a shady quarter,
that demons of shadow follow me; when I feel–
like isolating, closing down, covering my head, turning inward;
when I am overwhelmed by the dangers I sought out–
need to lock myself away in a world all my own creation:
I throw up my black hood to execute my fears:

A world of light, of magic tricks, gyre and gimble, dolls that talk,
hopping trains, of running gin, speaking French or Arabic,
of watercolors, oil-clay, graphite, inks and fountain pens,
colonnades and pinnacles and quarried marble blocks;
complexities, infinities, problems without solution
–of movable type, of telephones–
where minds may wander, illuminations bloom; where
every doubt’s akin to sin, where intuition’s understood.
When you’re alone,
when you feel doomed,
throw up your own



more fevered




Facebooktwitterlinkedinrssby feather
Facebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailby feather

Leave a Reply

Welcome to
Defenestrationism reality.

Read full projects from our
retro navigation panel, left,
or start with What’s New.