12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

• Week 40 • Italian Octave •

The Muse

The muse has been salted for colder days
no space in tight corridors to cellar
her rhymes or image flasburns; the teller
of tales nailed fast. Metaphor strays
no further than the eye today, and plays
in the shadow of Lingua, head-dweller
who has usurped my residence. Teller
of tales, for now words fall through salted haze.

The Italian Octave was originally a Petrarchan form of 8 lines, with no set line length and a rhyme scheme of a,b, b, a, a, b, b, a


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