Fred is an arsonist—and, Fred is not an arsonist. Let me explain: Fred has thought of fire, its power and grace, for a long time. Perhaps since he was a child. He often watched fires, mesmerized by ... [+]
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.
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.
