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Poem	a nearby field provides the plants sometimes with a wild profusion (organisation seems a long way off) it takes an eye used to ink or paint to confront such a rich confusion and draw it inwards to a proof that pattern too within constraints has room for a wild fling - passion's best rendered when the heart's aloof images creep up through the vents seeding voids with light explosions chaos must come before the truth art is nature (filtered) sucking sense from unimaginable delusions nowhere-to-go-to finds its path out of thin air a formal dance of paint or ink has reached conclusion and in a nutshell cosmos coughs
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