The orb of her huge Afro rhymes with her blank eyepits and dot-like aureolas, proposing her race, her psyche, and her sex as redundant circles.

It's a jubilee, for instance, of hair: masses of hair clotted like the roots of potbound plants, snake-thick dreadlocks, flaming hennaed aureolas, hair the texture of fiberglass insulation, hair with swirls and dips and glides enough to ski on, an Afro rioting two feet off its owners head with a little white hankie draped on top, like a napkin on a bowl of fruit.