Objects are bundles of code

an entity with blustering properties

they have a certain ring to the ears.

objects get thrown

at the compiler

trust me, it’s a programmer thing.

 

The compiler is a real work horse

which parses line by line

ever so carefully

translates the cascading lines

into less beautiful

but more functional

basic instructions.

 

The stiff poetry

of a gently humming machine

coffee is the fuel that propels

the hands on my arms that write

I make poetry for machines.

 

You’d never guess that a language

designed to describe machine operations

could be so flowingly expressive

you’d never guess that one would

be inspired to call it poetry

with a literary voice

poetic expression.

 

Who would have thought that the

“ifs” and “elses” which control the flow

would jump out like a monkey hopping

from tree to tree

and rise to the level

of an art which is

carefully crafted

by skinny quivering fingers.

 

The clock stoically stumbles away

hear the sound

of tapping on the keyboard

it rages

until the afternoon

quietly dodges away

and the room fades dark.