Poetry. "In Andrew Kozma's poems, the world is intriguingly askew: The desert sky opens like the mouth of a dying fish.' Cafes undress, walls merge with air, and rooms speak, sometimes even returning one's gaze, projecting strange images that will shadow you like portraits whose eyes follow you around the room and even into the street. Kozma is at his best evoking those odd moments of disorientation when the stuff of your life transforms, seeming to submerge into a matrix of dream--those moments air becomes solid and you stare through ice / like a man in a glacier....'"--J. Allyn Rosser.