Eroticism must be liberated from its desolate obsession with copulating genitals and embrace, not only the whole of our bodies, but of our experience and being in the world. The true subject of the poem is a life that recovers its form - a finitude that becomes limitless. This might function as a definition of beauty. We are used to thinking of beauty as a limitation, a series of ideals, or stereotypes, which art, confined by its historicity, assimilates and perpetuates. One might think of consciously defined form as an armoured aesthetic, the integrated self aggressively defending itself against the chaos within and without it.
All true art contains the terror of obliteration, which lies at the core of beauty.
It admits the reality of death, of human finitude and failure, it admits that the world is not us and that we do not control it. In poetry, or any art, it is impossible to talk of form and content as if they are two separate qualities. But most discussion about art, and much art, implicitly makes this distinction. A formless poem is an oxymoron. A poem is not a vessel from which a subject can be poured out, any more than the human body is a container for the soul.