I have no fondness for pure form at all.

An old art spreading rumours about / Paradise, it begs outside the gates / Of the gods: the active gods come out.

It is Australian innocence to love The naturally excessive and be proud Of a thoroughbred gelding who ran fast.

Poetry is either language lit up by life or life lit up by language

In other words the pictures are in a kind of relationship with each other which is touching only at points rather than pictures being illustrations of poems or poems extrapolations of the pictures.

I am moving deeper into my own brain.

I have no fondness for pure form at all.