Three Pokémon Poems
Andy Winter
You are still trying to name yourself, still scribbling on your tombstones, still threading through sutures. You are partition & parenthesis.
You are still trying to name yourself, still scribbling on your tombstones, still threading through sutures. You are partition & parenthesis.
They belly-crawled to avoid the lightning, and when the gap between rumbles and flashes quickened, they curled up on their packs. Sand stuck in the dry cracks at the corners of their lips.
Her soft shoe leaves the ground. The sword across
her lap strikes with lightning, penetrates necromancy.
You’ll sense the chill air of your prison, the sting and burning odor of lasers on flesh, the scorching heat of fires, the blunt impact of falling or thrown objects, and even the weight of your inventory.
One of the best un-talked-about aspects of video games is their general lack of soul-crushing suburban sprawl. They don’t need it. There’s not even anywhere to put it.
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.