The Taker of Thoughts

Grab its white feather,
Write with its thick ink.
Surrender your words till you’re not but leather,
Then with empty brain you can let your head sink.

Lay it atop a down pillow,
And descend to the abyss.
Every thought weighs a kilo,
so write them down as a list.

Body of a plucked goose,
Head of a dried squid.
Our success is just a ruse,
For it’ll win with its black liquid.

For to enchant others the payment’s your mind,
To be replaced with its inkened blots.
So be content with your fate assigned,
Decided upon by the taker of thoughts.

Who wrote this poem?
It’s in my hand.
Did it come from my dome?
I don’t understand.