Game of creation:
rule-free, error-free.

Ask God!

Manipulate metaphor:
beauty is what you make,
see, and show.

Let figures be:
you still make, see,
are shown.

And poet-tree
is organic too;
it grows, feeds,
is fed, sprouting
fictitious reality,
live dreams,
fruits of heaven;
whether sour
or sweet they be,
or unimaginably.

Artificiality is words
void of space
and place
and pace
of a throbbing
heart, running