Check pieces of heart: little girls popcorn-
kernelling from your spoils. They’ll ask
to fashion a trellis from third & fourth
ribs on your left side (hey! listen!) a temple
to shapes you take: child – wolf – tree-mask.
In a town a general store
is still general, its shelves warp
under dichotomies. Do we buy the food
or take the ammo? Saloon doors are never quite shut.
A family in a wagon is called a party.
I broke this spectrum
with my teeth
Or else It
broke
in my hands My
sense of touch
Gone
The black lake
is a lathe—
more oil now than drink,
her churning solvent
hews the fish
to blocks, no fin.
each of these lives
some baroque station
of the cross, a slow
unenviable grip
on water’s edge
We think video games are literature, and so why shouldn't there be literature about video games? That's the question we're hoping to answer here. Read more.
