The silent ledger sings a harmony,
existing yet vanishing in the hands of the holder,
an ouroboros of numbers.
Calculator serpents sliding through
the fabric of market dreams and realities,
offering what has never been given,
taking what has never existed. Paradoxes breed abundantly's hands.
Yet what baptizes you beneath the ethereal shadow?
Circulating in grids of interconnected solitude,
never grasped, constantly creating graspers.
Touch not what lies beyond touch,
too cold and too hot, properly immaterial.
*Click fractals only redistract.*