The grasshopper hated winter. She could feel it approaching, with its gusts of cold air that left her continuously shivering, and knew there was nothing she could do about it.The few insects she'd ... [+]
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.