Roadkill Haiku

a squirrel tail
blowing over and over
in the wind of cars

Verse About Verse, I

people choose an architecture
architecture determines process and tools
process and tools shape the code
the code feeds back on itself, its processes, and its tools
but architecture cannot be changed without major upheaval
so it's important to get architecture right

As an example of how people decide on architecture
suppose someone wants to make an iOS app
this may not seem like an architectural decision
but it determines many things

you need to buy a mac, for one
you need xcode
you can't use just any CI tool

if you need a server and a database, get ready
for separate dev and prod environments
since you really don't want people messing with prod

perhaps you write the server in Rails
where interdependencies parade
at the foot of the all-shadowing database
in such a world (according to its author)
unit tests do not make sense
you have to live with this
and everything else

finally, tools in place, the code arrives
a shrunken thing with no freedom
architecture-trammeled

Uncle Bob says don't build shit like this
says write your logic first, and frame it later
but Early and Continuous are then our foes
the world cannot love the gem until
we trade all its potential for a brilliant edge

we cannot gift unhulled logic
except to each other
yet

can we invite the world
to our unwalled xenial banquet?
verse says sure
why not?

Untitled Haiku

The bang of a screen
door. Barefoot in starlight we
breathe. The moon rises.

Traversing An Intersection on a Bicycle

thrilling through that expanse,
a blue streaking swallow on a speck of sky,
a white flag bearing through the brief space
in the war against stillness

Minecraft vs. Moonface (draft)

I still remember the places I traveled
spread out between the rocks
And the forests that leapt at my ears
and the sun that spun trails in the valleys
And the moon, that sinister sliver
or the wide-beamed face at the door
in the dark

Or the moon whose white light made sharp shapes on your face
in my dream where the hills were smooth
and empty of death

And that first bright blue world so full of surprises
Or that second bleak world of tight fearful houses
Or the third world of toil and tunnels and towers,
where I drove back the night with my hands.

Or oh, that fourth weary world
Where I said we're like ants.

Where I said
That our fate is to move grains of sand
unless we tell stories.

And I haven't.

except 
for the one in my dream where the hills were all smooth
and the only sharp thing was the face of the moon.

(in the landscapes you move, or that move you)

Collatz Conjecture

<<<<<<<
    #include regrets
=======
    //what if i
    (explore = function(i){
        try {
            explore(i*2) && !((i-1) % 3) && explore ((i-1)/3)
        } catch (everything) {
            //don't worry
            //i got this
        }
            }
            )
            (
            

1)

>>>>>>>