In The Pit Of Red You Hid

I Sit In The Top Of The Wood, My Eyes Closed. Inaction, No Falsifying Dream Between My Hooked Head And Hooked Feet: Or In Sleep Rehearse Perfect Kills And Eat.

The Shell The Sea Fills My Ear With Sand And With Fear. You May Wash Out The Sand, But Never The Sound Of The Ghost Of The Sea That Is Haunting Me.

Where White Is Black And Black Is White, I Won.

As Popa Penetrates Deeper Into His Life, With Book After Book, It Begins To Look Like A Universe Passing Through A Universe. It Is One Of The Most Exciting Things In Modern Poetry, To Watch This Journey Being Made.

What Happened Casually Remains -