Prose, Narratives, Etcetera, Can Carry

The World's Decay Where The Wind's Hands Have Passed, And My Head, Worn Out With Love, At Rest In My Hands, And My Hands Full Of Dust.

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.

And As If Reporting Some Felony To The Police They Let You Know You Were Not John Donne.

Haven’t You Heard Of The Music Of The Spheres?” Asked The Dragon. “it’s The Music That Space Makes To Itself. All The Spirits Inside All The Stars Are Singing. I’m A Star Spirit. I Sing Too. The Music Of The Spheres Is What Makes Space So Peaceful.

The World Rolls Under The Long Thrust Of His Heel. Over The Cage Floor The Horizons Come.