<b>This is Just to Say </b> I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were d… - William Carlos Williams

There is no poetry of distinction without formal invention, for it is in the intimate form that works of art achieve their exact meaning, in which they most resemble the machine, to give language its highest dignity, its illumination in the environment to which it is native. Such war, as the arts live and breathe by, is continuous. It may be that my interests as expressed here are pre-art. If so I look for a development along these lines and will be satisfied with nothing else.

So different, this man
And this woman:
A stream flowing
In a field.

There’s nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made of words.