It was finally enough. Pablo's bank account finally had the minimum for a down payment for a 30-year mortgage for an outer-borough co-op apartment. "We'll finally own a place," he told his wife ... [+]
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.