The Blank Page

Like boards, words must be measured before cut
Thereby establishing poetry's worth
As like calories condensed in a nut
And unlike the novel fluff of Russian girth
For nature tells us with its love of fat
That flavors are best when firmly packed
And it's on this concentrated goodness that
Both poets and squirrels have always snacked.

Shells as well fall away unmeasured
As a sacrifice to the greater good
Because obtaining things truly treasured
Can't be done without the requisite wood.
Wood for the pulp of a blank manuscript,
Where else to put all the ink that is dripped?