Forego punctuation and you forego caveat and the ace up your sleeve. Nothing is going to save you from yourself. You’ve entered uncharted waters. Count on there being dragons. You might drop off the end of the earth, or you might sail the Milky Way.
There is the music of gods, demi-gods, nymphs and dryads to be had, and rhapsody even Walt Whitman and Hart Crane failed to reach.
This is the testament of much of W.S. Merwin’s poetry.