The Space Between Two Words
A game of presence and imagination.
You won’t write a good poem. You’ll say the true thing. The poem is just what’s left.
Be first at the table →Not a writing exercise. A way to arrive.
A question is drawn. You set small words against it — a chair, rain, a porch light — until a line appears that says what you meant. There’s no winning. There’s the moment the room goes quiet.
Nobody is asked to be good at poetry. The cards do the reaching; you only have to be honest about which words are true. What’s left on the table is the poem — but the poem was never the point.
How a round goes
Draw. Set. Say it.
01 · DrawA question finds youDirect enough to feel like being caught. You don’t get to pick an easy one.
02 · SetWords against the questionThe cards give the line its shape. You can’t perform your way out of it.
03 · Say itOut loudWhat you keep is presence. The poem is just the trace.
Made for people who are done with small talk.
AloneA quiet table, one question, ten minutes. Harder to lie in than a journal.
With a partnerThe game asks what you’ve been circling for weeks — so neither of you has to bring it up.
With friendsNot a party game. A fourth-hour-of-the-night game.
The table is being set now.
Tell me when it’s ready →One email when the door opens. No drip, no funnel.