I have nowhere to go / that isn't automatically written language. Is
there such a thing as surrealist meditation? Non-narrative
autobiography? In Perry's elusive yet eminently chaseable poems,
hallucinations prowl the baseboards and molding, never to see in
themselves any sense except subliminally. Under shifting, disjunctive
surfaces, Perry examines self, history and language, reminding us of the
insupportability of each.