Poetry accounts for the gap between ideas that need expressing and the structural and lexicological limitations of language. Portmanteaux, neologisms, idiolects are natural, phenomenological necessities in linguistic evolution, but also of man generally, as the development of language itself allows new insights into the nature of being. Poetry should make us dizzy, make experience new, should not be graspable on a first scan, even positing an exhaustive conscious and subconscious reference key, an etymological encyclopaedia and a discursive apperception of the coalescent language manifold in the author’s author. The words should outrun their composer. It’s the suffocation of the unified totality of mental processes through which language as art is meant to cut. But in divesting the creative agent, perhaps the other is confounded? No danger; torpor is the only obstacle, for with the cognition of recursion as solution, articulation becomes rain for humid insipidity. But, are there many other fissures in this felicific calculus?