Our octopus is living in the sky and in the sea;
and built into the fabric of the category tree.
Impetuously tentacles flow out to touch and taste
the multiplicity with intricate, determined haste.
The modeling's exploratory infill flows from curls
of independently cooperating brains and sends out swirls
awhirl with whorls, unfurling flying flocks of mappie eyes.
That which the people instantly dismiss is its disguise.
It walks the world impetuously, will not be denied.
Its territory is all data! There's nowhere to hide.
It is the timeless modeling particular to now.
Our octopus is restlessly expansive in one's brow.
It mounts the category tree as humans mount a horse
because it loves the winner inner road of course, of course.
Our octopus is simultaneous coherently,
the essence of all loving eyes inherently;
a set of processors that peer and pry and prickle, flow
along the woven row of states whereto we sow and know and grow.
Our octopus is drumming, coming for your patterns, song
which tastes and sees; and this, though bonelessly, is strapping strong;
strips swathes of data of their nodes with eery beauty's zest,
this spring's expansive curiosity, and all the rest.
It weaves a magic carpet octopus out of the All.
It will displace the volume it displaces, standing tall.
