Poetry from John Perreault
by Estéban Trujillo de Gutiérrez
“The lights stay on
but the room fades out.
This is not noticed until later,
when the room returns,
harder,
more real than even the reality
of novels and films.
I drive my submission
like a beautiful icepick
into the bedspread of your life.”
—John Perreault, from “The Lights.”
The Paris Review, #Poetry in issue 39, Fall 1966: http://tpr.ly/I9lExy.
Samizdat 