A series of Tankas

She thinks

These words will sooth her

I wish I could

Say what she needs to hear

But lies are for poets…

Not scientists

A false sense of legacy

Stirs me to task

These words are not mine

They are not yours either.

Sweet platitudes

Soothe my self-doubt

Your emails

Lost in the wifi lounge

Throbbing basslines

A party two-stories distant

Your euphoria

Reminds me of mine

Three organs of admittance

A legion of cask bearers

Who never really cared

Traffic stops

The recollection of loss remains

Eight bits of nostalgia

Eight bits of delight

Eight bits of frustration

Eight bits of achievement

Eight bits of fuck all

Fuck you Zelda.


If only

We could all curl into a ball

And escape down hidden paths

Metroid prime,

You ass fucking motherfucker.