Hindu circles to ring our empty spaces,
Skirt bare untruths, bind absences safe and round.
Byron’s girl laces the Persian rhythm tighter,
Unspindled Holleriths punch steady big blue beats.
And now Hippolyta’s sister shadows every step
Marking where each tap may toe another line.
But joys surprised from a panache of chance,
Dancers can still out stumble clockwork dance.
In part this came from thoughts after reading ‘No one in control: The algorithms that run our lives‘ (Hal Hodson, New Scientist 7/2/2015)