(filtered)


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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(filtered)