What does the ink on the page
know of the hand which arranges it
and the fingers which orchestrate
the mind’s movement?
What could we ever hope to know
of the soul that moves us through
this constrained spacetime window
and the animal mind that dances
to its symphony?
What then to make of NPCs
but unpracticed souls, or uninterested
or untalented
Poor artists of a higher dimension
abdulj. 