…Do I see the ghost of a princess? Cease walking in some unknown era… - Stéphane Mallarmé

In a museum in London there is an exhibit called "The Value of Man": a long coffinlike box with lots of compartments where they've put starch—phosphorus—flour—bottles of water and alcohol—and big pieces of gelatin. I am a man like that.

exiled spirits, red
as the spotless toe of a seraph spread
with scarlet by the shame of rumpled dawns

Verse is everywhere in language where there is rhythm, everywhere, except in notices and on page four of the papers. In the genre called prose, there are verses [...] of all rhythms. But in truth there is no prose: there is the alphabet, and then verses more or less tight, more or less diffuse.