Integral

All you see is the contour of choice,
Shrinking forever into branch points;
Small integrands stem out of diffusive noise
A circle is an infinite line for a tortoise.
In walks a random man with his own voice
The integral becomes a sophisticated toy.

You try to see how the product is framed
Plotting the function becomes the endgame;
You dream of the function and the values it takes
But beauty turns out to be an illusion of hell
The assumption blows away your one final stand,
Your shriek resonates with the silence of the lambs.