Words are what sticks to the real. We use them to push the real, to drag the real into the poem. They are what we hold on with, nothing else. They are as valuable in themselves as rope with nothing to be tied to.

AimlesslyIt pounds the shore. White and aimless signals. NoOne listens to poetry.— from "Thing Language

Beauty is so rare a th—Sing a new songRealMusicA busted flush. A pain in the eyebrows. AVisiting card— from 15 False Propositions Against God [1958]

And I think that it is certainly possible that the objective universe can be affected by the poet. I mean, you recall Orpheus made the trees and the stones dance and so forth, and this is something which is in almost all primitive cultures. I think it has some definite basis to it. I'm not sure what. It's like telekinesis, which I know very well on a pinball machine is perfectly possible.