Ars Poetica

it'd be indefinable and unknown, especially unknown! and these unknowns, they'd complete us... it'd start with a cosmic sentiment, a serendipity that's bent toward this infinite-in, where love in a radiant bouquet bursting to blossom would begin -- there, where there's a music in you eager to play in a mellifluous-voice which only the heart can hear, and it'd take you into a melodious rhythm 'n roll, a riff 'round the sound of a whirl'd swelling with a kiss of bliss, 'tis this that'd speak in that uncommon tongue, the Poetic one -- it'd risk absurdity in an u n f e t t e r e d language, divested with an unbounded-eye, (not limited to the fatal-skin yer' in,) that'd look and look and dare to see, the beauty of this conflicted sentimental-reality, this creative-destruction outpouring into the middle of things where good Homer nods over a potpourri that is the Art of Poetry