O, great gender cowboy in the sky! Give me a day
Without body, where I might travel below
Eye-level; a sheet of paper not yet written
On, caught by a breeze down a street where
All the houses are closed for fumigation.
O, divine game designer! I tire of psychopomping
As an orb of bright golden light and not even
Realising it; a pip-squeak quest marker; a sprite
Copied over and over; combative or quirky:
Hero! Press (A) to infodump into my echochamber!
Instead make me joyous as the unheard crunch of a glacier that moves without watchers
And let my complexities rivulet through soil in a way that surprises fools who go digging.
For I remain rendered behind closed doors. I collect paper clips from gutters and smile
At strangers for no other reason than I’m trying to be a person I can love with the lights off.