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Just finished Geoff Nicholson's book Bedlam Burning, 2001 and found a passage on page 164 that resonated: "... the world consists of zips as well as saints, of lightning as well as peach melba. There's an oscillation between the banal and the numinous; and perhaps the point is that there is no opposition here. Not only can poetry be made out of anything, poetry already exists in everything; there's no such thing as an unsuitable subject for art."