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
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