Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.041 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

Bugging Out

by Richard

−0.1830 + 0.6987i

Drawing the boundary…

Fletcher McGee

by Edgar Lee Masters

−0.2221 + 0.6867i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Bugging Out

by Richard

I woke up one fine morning, feeling something strange,
Looked down at my new body, oh, this is quite the change,
Legs a-wiggle, shell a-shine, I’m not sure how to cope,
Living life as a giant bug, there’s really little hope.

I’m bugging out, bugging out, in this crazy human world,
With my antennae up, my plans unfurled,
I’m bugging out, bugging out, trying to get along,
Who knew an insect’s life could inspire a song?

The cat’s indifferent, the dog’s afraid, Mum’s clutching at her pearls,
Dad’s got the broom, and Grete’s fainting, it’s a rollercoaster whirl,
Tried to text my boss, told him I’d be late,
Ended up with pizza, oh, life’s a twist of fate.

I’m zooming through the chat rooms, looking for my kin,
Found a toaster transformation, but no one quite like me within,
Webcam call with colleagues, they’re laughing, can’t believe,
I might be a giant bug, but I still know how to grieve.

Scuttling ‘cross the floorboards, dodging every broom,
Avoiding all the sunlight, I prefer the darkened gloom,
Work’s a lost endeavour, my boss left quite a note,
But I’m adjusting to this new life, even if remote.

So here’s to metamorphosis, in this digital age,
Living life as a giant bug, on my very own stage,
I’m bugging out, bugging out, making my own way,
Learning to embrace this life, come what may.

Fletcher McGee

by Edgar Lee Masters

She took my strength by minutes,
She took my life by hours,
She drained me like a fevered moon
That saps the spinning world.
The days went by like shadows,
The minutes wheeled like stars.
She took the pity from my heart,
And made it into smiles.
She was a hunk of sculptor's clay,
My secret thoughts were fingers:
They flew behind her pensive brow
And lined it deep with pain.
They set the lips, and sagged the cheeks,
And drooped the eyes with sorrow.
My soul had entered in the clay,
Fighting like seven devils.
It was not mine, it was not hers;
She held it, but its struggles
Modeled a face she hated,
And a face I feared to see.
I beat the windows, shook the bolts.
I hid me in a corner —
And then she died and haunted me,
And hunted me for life.

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Track 1
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