Three BioShock Poems
Chelsea Margaret Bodnar
the worship / of a songbird / laced into its baby blue / bonnet / of sky // the dead dog / copy-pasted / its same small crooked paws / around this corner / and
the worship / of a songbird / laced into its baby blue / bonnet / of sky // the dead dog / copy-pasted / its same small crooked paws / around this corner / and
You are still trying to name yourself, still scribbling on your tombstones, still threading through sutures. You are partition & parenthesis.
Her soft shoe leaves the ground. The sword across
her lap strikes with lightning, penetrates necromancy.
i hope Red had taken time to write his
requiem for his lost dad, when trainer
Silver, had happened
to find him praying at the mountain froth.
At crux of the rainbow: Blackness.
The King must fade in twinkling church
organ and WWF belt.
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