It is

not the vanishing point
not the hallow
nor the swallow-up
by all the whorls
one brambles through
and not the knotty worlds
one ambles to
that makes machinic mise en sense.
It is
the schizoid pole
the double stroll
the polyvocal flush
with one's own unknown land
the open mouth that drinks the letter in
that makes of one
a written refugee.
It simply is

"...the pencil point that traces the design,
he is the stroke itself." (D&G, AO)