what if the time-steps are too slow,
the movement i feel from your orbit rounding off to zero?
is it more efficient to skip ahead to the next message,
provided there is one?
or to the next witching hour, when i can fly all the sails
and soar through the doubts that assail me?
what would the loss really be if i didn’t face the world every 0.1 seconds?
are there some realizations you can’t skip?
compiler, don’t optimize away this branch just yet.
i know these lines aren’t too hot a spot so far.
and you think my body has no side-effects, that I’m just a
free-floating, formless definition, uprooted from
the parse tree you got tattooed on your back on All Hallows Eve?
pop me like a pill with impunity, my return value ignored,
but don’t be so quick to pop me off the call stack.
you loop analyzer, your idealization of who i am is wrong.
what if i’m a bubble in the pipe you insist on smoking, set to
delay, cancel the consequences of your poor fortune-telling?
or a spinlock, churning in the dust, grinding your clock’s soft hands
the special moments in life, the greatest hacks, don’t they break abstractions?
i’m just biding my time.
or perhaps you wager the points-to set of my invocand is always empty?
your proof doesnt convince me.
i’m filed away in the library, and you just dont anticipate what my users could
i’ve left calling cards everywhere, promising to be ready when the You in that
path invokes me.
none ever have; doesnt mean none ever well.
the red ribbons of fate
left dangling everywhere, dangling pointers, garbage collection, keep back!
somebody might want this
(and without the dumpster diving.)
i’m just waiting for the right person to call me, with the right arguments
i wont wish to refute.