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.