Poets Don't See the Same Reds, Blues, Or Yellows
If we all possess a rubik cube of possible colors, one square per perception, one perception representing the purest idea of an experience--a platonic ideal of the taste of Italian basil pesto or Roquefort and red wine--poets do not perceive the squares the same. Depression is a valley in which a poet becomes the diligent naturalist sketching the little black fangs of a spider who bit her. Poets do not see the same reds, blues, or yellows. Your green is not a poet's green, they don't play rubiks cubes with the same goals. It is the need of philosophers to organize colored squares into larger units of the same. But together, at least, a philosopher and a poet can sort out what blue squares square blue. Meanwhile, philistines puzzle over a single cube in which every side has only one opposite.