This is something I recently came up with; I wrote it down while I was at breakfast with Ellie (actually on the train back from breakfast). I'll be reading it Friday.
I've been inside that machine-- the one they say revolves the heavens about the earth-- I've watched its gears turn, traced the outlines of their teeth with my fingers; I've even stood on some. I watched a gear crack and fall, a spring loosed to follow its own path.
I looked up through the labyrinth of clockwork-- the endless cacophony of ticking and grinding-- and I thought to myself "This is not the machine which revolves the universe."
Arbtirary thoughts on nearly everything from a modernist poet, structural mathematician and functional programmer.
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