"What he inscribed" [sonnet ars poetica]
He hid for long years to consider the page
its face with the blizzardy chaos of snow
he slashed a thin line as the passing carriage
leaves guidance for whither the walker might go
the clomp of a hoof the trudge of a foot
the slide of a sled sly slither of a snake
whatever he scrawled howsoever he put
his mark on a field as he slit through the flake
the composite of flakes dense cluster of day
white noise white nights blear blustry silence
white chocolate to take a dark chocolate touche
where black is a blood inkling victim or violence
he sat for a decade till what he inscribed
should shatter the swaddle of thought he'd imbibed
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