Two Eloping Disks with the Same Radius
Euclid was alone at his poor supper. He witnessed his two eyes wandering to the point of collision, all of this a simple reflection in a bowl of soup: the natural triangle that worries itself into the brow with strong oarsmen pulling Euclid down the river that seems all wrong. The rocking of the boat in the cold water promises nausea—a white crane flying at night impossibly low over them—he thinks, shit, there must be some mistake. There was vertigo and a fall in a stone tub. An open pit burial with a red false flag of fish bladder.He asked for a cake of blue thistle, being alone, instead they gave him fog and a now burning boat. I said he was alone and you’re asking but what about those two oarsmen—well, you know death is an unreliable narrator at ease with the last arc minutes of Mrs. Vesica Piscis, the great mother who is alive within us all. Smile. Please, smile. I know.