As unfailingly playful as it is erudite, Kevin Mills distinctive voice brims with wit and allusion. The shapes on the page are precise, sometimes restless, like the intelligence behind these poems. Impatient with words, he breaks them and spaces them, showing the reader stray new meanings, sometimes pertinent, sometimes whimsical, spinning off like particles from split atoms. The gaps and spaces on the page let the brave reader in. Perceptive, elegant and highly accomplished, this is poetry to return to repeatedly for the shifts in meaning and depth. He can have nothing to say to me about suffering. His looped and windowed flesh letting through stained light. I burn in the cloud- ed night; graft a few strips of my skin, he’s healed.