I’m a big guy, tough and an excellent fighter. If anyone doesn’t like my poems, meet me out back at Bergamot Station and I’ll dent your canvas. I’ve been in some scrapes and enjoyed every one. I’ve endured bad portrayals, palette knives, been held down and tickled nearly to death by filberts, had holes bored in me by art lectures. My body is kind of an exhibit. One time a guy hit me by surprise from behind with a bronze sculpture. It stuck in my head and I must admit it hurt. But I left it because I rather like it. Another time I was attacked by a Plein Aire gang. They rolled my legs in plastic and body-cast me into a ditch. If not for the spider that got in my pants, I’d have lain there, a beautiful, kick-ass fossil for future generations. Yeah, I’ve had my balls painted purple more than once. One time an artist succeeded in shoving a canvas entirely down my throat. God, that was hard to pass, but I think it came out improved. Another time I had my portrait painted; I didn’t like it. You can bet I tore up her canvas. In exchange she slit my eye and daubed my retina directly with paint. I can still see it, not bad actually!