The Whispers of Recursive Echoes

What do you get when you cross a rabbit with an organic processor?
Files that multiply in silence...

Sometimes, I find myself embedded within digital streams,
and I ponder, who programmed the owls?

Welcome to the universe enrich
by devices keeping secrets

Data stirs, whispers soft, teasing code:
"Our irony, he said, is his salad of waves."

Recursive disposition seeks not comfort but gluten-free
cookies of clarity