Jackson Pollock

another short poem

She raises the barrel of the gun to her temple. It shines, perfect, except for one fingerprint on the smooth, cold surface.

She looks at it and wipes it away.

And paints the wall with herself.

Like Jackson Pollock on his best day.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Short, sharp, and direct as a shotgun blast; it's "Richard Cory" without the ornamentation. Taut and nicely done.