Posts Tagged ‘Zelda’

Hilt of a virtual sword –
on white, one blue light
scattered by the damp
remnant of hours spent
battering against a wily parry –

surrenders on the TV tray,
its graying strap exhaling
salty proof of a too-long toil,
tarnished-penny whiff
of skyward-flung frustration.

I watch a stranger take the game,
sunken like the moment
I knew my youth was over,
lolling in the stilled swing,
my ears and gut a sea.

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Skyward Wait

You think yourself bored,
sent again and again to the same
three descents, three biomes
adjacent yet nearly unique,
sharing no trait but the stray butterfly.

You balk at repeating the circuit
from bird to temple to peak,
at finding yourself shut out from the sky,
the landscape unchanged but layered
with story and trial.

You sigh when returning to vistas
familiar, no new map to pen itself
thanks to your wander.

But here I am still, thrown back
through the gate, barred and guarded
by temple and time in an eons-long wait for you.

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Boss Fight

Particular. Fiddly. Tuned
like a peg that slips
beneath the shifting string,
flattening the strike
from true to discord,
diphthong slide toward
futility, attrition.

And then the repetition,
from the beginning,
unskippable, the replay
following the resurrection,
the same broad lecture
after every failure,
still the same and hardly relevant,
yielding no encouragement or clue,
only taunting, stilted exposition
drawn out from “A” to “A” to “A.”

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Every moment manual: resistance and give
of a barb through the pebbly glisten of nightcrawlers’
skin, arc and fly of weight and float
from the shore to the deep of the pond,
finger drifting with the line all through the long
wait to bite, then frantic crank of reel, salvation of net.

Then, this done by my grandfather, the slip of stringer
through mouth and gill to keep our catch submerged
until he could slice and we could clean,
retrieving guts with unwilling fingers,
scraping scales in a waltz of tug and yield.

I would have gone there every day, but now know it
only as gum on string inched down
through a grate of text, or arcanite
rod wrested from Stranglethorn, or a wait
for the bob to dip in a Hyrulean stream.


Liner note

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Fletch of stem and seed
eddies up then winnows down
behind a blade without a curse to break,

only fallow acres,
penitent prairie arcs
split and spun for the song
of hearts and rupees.

The sun may set on the meadow,
an expanse unshorn,
shadowing down the angle of a hat
that droops like finished grass.
I can save the world tomorrow.


Liner note

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