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If you were Jackson Pollock and Jackson Pollock painted nudes I’d be the perfect canvas, long and lean like meat on a rack, bloodletting meat, that smears the floors purple and brown. You’d be sexy with that paint brush dangling haphazardly from your wrist, gone limp, your jeans tight against your groin. It would be the 1950s, and everything would be black and white and gray, except the paint you’d splatter on my skin like a thousand stinging bees or playing cards when thrown at angles against the flesh, against my bare ass, which isn’t bare at all but hair covered—colors would stick and run, beautiful and vivid. You’d use your hands, thick hands, that know how to move pieces into action, that know better than mine, which are soft but bleed in the winter, leaving streaks of red on everything I touch, your balding head, your cigarette lips, your zipped fly. Stephen S. Mills earned his MFA from Florida State University. His poems have appeared in The Gay and Lesbian Review, Hoboeye Online Arts Journal, The Broken Bridge Review, Juked, PANK Literary Magazine, Dogzplot, The New York Quarterly, The Antioch Review, Collective Fallout, Ink Node, and Poetic Voices Without Borders 2. Others are forthcoming in Knockout, Limp Wrist, and Ganymede. He is also the winner of the 2008 Gival Press Oscar Wilde Poetry Award. He currently lives in Orlando, FL and has red hair. next table of contents |
