Spring 1995 • Vol. XVII No. 2 Poetry |

Points

Knife, sword, gun, we meet at some point or other, yours, you designate, I'm point- less, zero, blank, having neither length nor breadth, no part, not even as in hair, not even hair, no cleft, fold, nothing there, the way you paint me, sculpt me, draw a Y of lines to make the point that marks the us I'm of as un-. But there are needles too, and what's the point but being somewhere one defines by being there, and when it comes to finer points, our points are several. Woman is the third sex, between yours and the one you make. Zero and one are all the machine knows. We know better. That's our point.

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Lets

By Martha Collins

Knife, sword, gun, we meet at some point or other, yours, you designate, I'm point- less, zero, blank, having neither length nor breadth, no part, not even as in hair, […]

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