Khaleel Gheba

after Terry Cavanagh

Figure 1: a white triangle orbiting
a black circle as blinking geometry
narrows around the duo, a tightening
halo of orange.

Figure 2: hapless triangle laid upon
a thin blue line, teetering
at the edge, its angled tip barely
over, above purple void.

Figure 3: tired triangle below
an endlessly high rectangle, black
with yellow squares, marking either
windows or warnings.

Figure 4: four dampened crowns of
grey, darker at the closest, lighter
at the furthest, around our triangle,
who is not crying.

Figure 5: jagged red crown in front
of jagged red crown, row after row
back and back into blackness – but,
The Triangle in foreground.

Figure 6: tipped, on an angle, dear
triangle leaning on black circle, which                                            
may or may not be rolling downhill.
The hill is just a line.

Figure 7: solid black as background,
triangle along bottom, pointed
down, wide end aimed up. There are
no edges, no endings.




After playing Super Hexagon for a week, I would close my eyes and saw the shrinking lines of the game, the triangle spinning around in the center. I talked to everyone I knew, asking them to play the game, to see what I saw, to become a triangle, this faceless shape controlled by two keys. So, to complete the cycle of obsession, I wrote a poem. But uh, everyone should play Super Hexagon: [link]