Behaviour patterns

Butter melts in a pan,                    
patterned with bubbles
where the heat is underneath.
The rain last night                     
left trails in the sand
that read like a secret message,                     
a Linear B, an alien script
with uncrackable encryption.                    
I don’t want to sleep.
I’m looking for patterns.
It’s no accident.                    
It’s what I’m programmed to do.
The stars are in constellations,                    
the clouds pull faces
and when breakers crash                    
I look for Mandelbrot patterns.
I’m a parasite feeding                    
on raw data.
I can’t be cured.
I see patterns on patterns                     
of patterns until nothing
can possibly make sense.

Andrew Nightingale