The cool breeze drifts in from the Pacific Ocean through the banana plant leaves. Shadows dance across the pastel pallet of the bedspread; the charcoal nude woman looks over her shoulder. Jesus clasps ... [+]
I'm a triangle my edges are hard always snagging on the soft, soft world my scars are triangles too red where the cancer was cut out of me it failed to kill me: I killed It white where a sailboat's anchor hit my instep my eyes are triangles—they penetrate my sex is a triangle—it penetrates I'm a red triangle and the triangle blade of my vocation will be pried from my sinew-fingers only when I'm cold and free at last in the great circle world.