Poem fractal
0.177 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.
1.1661 − 0.0256i
Drawing the boundary…
by Richard
1.1982 − 0.1995i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
You never come back
I say good-by when I see you going in the doors.
The hopeless open doors that call and wait
And take you then for— how many cents a day?
How many cents for the sleepy eyes and fingers?
I say good-by because I know they tap your wrists.
In the dark, in the silence, day by day.
And all the blood of you drop by drop,
And you are old before you are young
You never come back
by Richard
Hey love,
I know you’re away, but I’ve been thinking about you every single day.
There’s something so pure, so real about you,
and I wouldn’t change a thing.
You’ll be home soon, in three weeks, love,
Don’t wash away your natural charm.
No need for scents, just be yourself,
In your essence, I find my calm.
No need for perfume or sweet-scented soap,
Your essence alone gives me hope.
You’re my heaven scent, oh, pure and true,
Every breath I take is filled with you.
No fragrant oils, no floral disguise,
You’re perfect just as you, my love, arise.
While you're away, I get by fine,
The bed still smells of you each night.
I don’t change the sheets, I breathe you in,
Your presence lingers on my skin.
No need for perfume or sweet-scented soap,
Your essence alone gives me hope.
Remember Napoleon and Josephine,
A love so strong, no need to clean.
I’m your hero, you’re my queen,
In your arms, I find my dream.
No need for perfume or sweet-scented soap,
Your essence alone gives me hope.
In a world of make-believe, you’re my reality,
No pretence, just the scent of you and me.
Every touch, every kiss, so divine,
In your natural state, you’re always mine.
You’ll be home soon, my love, don’t wash away,
The essence of you, in my heart, will stay.
You’re my heaven scent, my heart’s decree,
Forever and always, just you and me.
A fractal is a shape that keeps its pattern when you look closer. Coastlines, trees, shells, and weather do this. The large form and the small form are the same kind of thing. A poem can be drawn that way. The shape of the whole comes from the shape of the lines.
Primunia is the name for the source of that order: the pattern under the pattern, already there in a tree, a shell, and a verse.
The number under the picture is the poem constant. It is read from the build of the lines: their length, how uneven they are, the size of the stanzas, the share of vowels, and the way the lines end. A new word moves the number when it changes that build. The same poem always gives the same number.
Drawn on its own, that number sits in a quiet part of the plane, and most poems would look like the same soft disk. So the number is carried outward along its own direction until it meets the edge of the Mandelbrot set, where the shape turns sharp. The picture is the Julia set of that meeting place.
Each point on the canvas is folded again and again by one small rule. Points that stay near the rule form the dark interior. Points that rush away become the coloured bands. The hue comes from the poem constant, and the brightest bands turn toward gold. Change the length of a line, the stanza, or the vowel share, and both the number and the picture move.
Branching draws the poem as a tree. Each turn follows a line, and every smaller branch repeats that pattern. A longer line reaches farther. The letters at the start of a line bend the next turn. A higher share of vowels opens the branches wider.
The trunk takes its colour from the poem constant and warms toward gold at the tips. When the poem has more than one stanza, gold forks leave the trunk. Each fork is a stanza beyond the first, up to three. The tree divides where the poem divides. One stanza remains a single trunk.
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