Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.019 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.

Love in the Asylum

by Dylan Thomas

−0.5256 − 0.0183i

Drawing the boundary…

The Lyre

by Alice Corbin

−0.5428 − 0.0259i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Love in the Asylum

by Dylan Thomas

A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
A girl mad as birds
 
Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven—proof house with entering clouds
 
Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.
 
She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
Possessed by the skies
 
She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.
 
And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

The Lyre

by Alice Corbin

Autumn color and twilight moon,
Thin-blown leaves, and a twisted fire
Climbing the edge of the waves to the moon;
Slender and thin as a silver wire,
The voice of the moon, and the keen desire
That calls through birches and delicate laces
Of pale gold leaves, invisible faces
Of lovers that linger where daylight wanes
For the ancient showers and liquid rains
That the full moon pours through the fragile veins.

From the rose-colored dreams of day,
To the wave-swept sands of the shore,
Secretly, shadows grey
Steal to the edge of the shore,
Steal to the silver sands,
Lifting their fragile hands:
Give us the twisted fire,
Fill us with old desire,
Moon of the maddened lyre,
Moon of the singing wire!

The golden leaves grow grey and fall,
Twilight dies in the west,
The sea-gull turns to the wave for rest,
The land-bird dips to the sheltered nest,
But the shadows keep their quest,
And over the baréd breast,
The silver arrows fall;
Still the liquid fire
Wakes the old desire,
Liquid showers and liquid rains
Fill the heart and the beating veins.

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