A Poetic Word of Advice

The essence of poetry is not in the dexterous tongue, nor in peak and timbre of quivering chords within one's throat—no, the nebulous whole where syllables become stars starts before the moments when words are born, in the senses, but not a mere grafting of the knockwood world out of door, a graft mimesis,n the duty of a scribe, a stenographer, but a gestation weaned on news from sovereign world within, which lays undiscovered except for entire nations of knowing—not knowledge—, seeing behind eyes, speech behind tongues, music unconcerned with ears, scents unheard of by noses, touch that knows no skin. Observe nothing in poetry, subject all to ourself, ungay what we say unwri angry knots of seaweba unwri