Bob Perelman

Djuna Moon

beneath the human art

where up
is in

and down is first left behind
to tend its outside

from then on until
the beating calls a truce

—fat chance
with the motor mouths snapping

trance after trance
hypnotized mousetraps in heat.

Let's remember that
next time one of us

is in
the other.

For now one
multiple moon broken

in wave cups said for you
to see

triangulated by what I saw
and want next

liking it afterwards.
Nightwood's snarling curls

of ink speak
the comic graveside manner

as tenderly as
the old grey book can

reopened to me

her buttocks' soft center a

pulse throbbed like a

The one multiply attached body

for everybody from the breathy

of vulgarity.
You mind?


Interview with Bob Perelman

Other poems by Bob Perelman:

EPR #1:
Fake Dream B

Fake Dream C (by Bob Perelman and Lyn Hejinian)


© 2002 Electronic Poetry Review