Corrine’s makeshift shacks pollinate at their peaks. Each pixel passes, hatches, and grows into the next Neumann heap. Little windows, just a few, allow the dwellers an even eye to see through. Lines overlapped, rotated, and folded, created this puzzle, paper coated. Urban square rooted shelters like these, since when do they cast such an organic tease? Listen and you can hear, in the colors, the rustling of fractal leaves appear. A spotted frame winks below an origami kite carried by a coded breeze in this modular night. Rest inside, Smith’s your host, socialize a bit, with one of the ghetto ghosts.
A new day arrives and a distant morning 8-bit bluebird can be heard. Undisturbed by this but rather empowered, the structures again begin, to flower. Towers of two, dimensions, sway to the tune of four dimensions. Or, is it even more? Making neighborhoods, their gardens, with each crafty spore. A door opens to a few of these structures allowing exit or entrance? To whence we came? In the game of life, to what structure do we aim? Our vessels like these, what gives them life, what gives them name? Not so much meaning, as burnt architecture from a undying flame.