Something That Means Something

Find the beauty of God. That is an imperative sentence. There are 1,618 characters in this poem. It is still a poem even though there are no line breaks. 1,645 if you include the title. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. That is an example of a sentence that includes every letter of the alphabet. Seven letters make up two words that make up the shortest verse in the Bible. Jesus wept. The Bible is made up of sixty-six books. Somebody said if you understand this verse, you don’t need to read anymore. You will have learned everything. Somebody should say something about when to type numbers like this 3 or like this three. When his character cried, John Barth wrote, “His eyes watered, there aren’t enough ways to say that.” I don’t think many ways are necessary. Near my home there is a church where a large sculpture of Jesus hangs from the ceiling. A proper sentence only needs a subject and a verb to be considered complete. He is just above the congregation and I’m worried He’s going to fall down. Sometimes the subject is understood: (You) Go. (You) Be. He is very large and I do not think those cords will support Him. One should not begin a sentence with a conjunction. But I have a friend who says, “He’s tied up pretty good. I’ve never even seen him sway.” Thank God. It is a common misconception that one should refrain from using a preposition to end a sentence with. He doesn’t even sway. English is one of the most difficult languages to learn. A girl I knew used to say, “May God bless you and keep you forever and ever. Amen.” I wrote used to say because she has since died. She used to say this after a sneeze. Did you feel the cool breeze? That is an interrogative sentence. I suppose she would say it still, were she alive. Please (you) interject with a response. And I suppose she would even still mean it. There are a lot of rules to break here. Everyone wants to [say] [do] [be] something that means something. And when you find it, thank Him for it. 

Take Away

Seldom going on about

The way the rain can speak

To think the count was higher now

Than ever it would peak

To rush around through falling wet

Accompanied by none

And twirling in the loathsome dim

Enchanted by its shun

Mirrored in each dewy piece

Making beauty where it went

And creeping suddenly about

In all the time it spent

Thrashing through the space between

The unbecoming sway

An unimaginable gaze

To take the breath away

The glow surrounding at this point

Was woven by the dawn

And there was no good reason

It should be sung as a song

So ever

That there would be anything

but the breaking of day

to better beg the question,

historically, I know not of it.

The question being, of course,

how to go about this.

I pause never less than a breath

to spring upon the fragments of this,

the unleavened artillery, that perches

sometimes thoughtfully,

sometimes thoughtlessly,

in clouds of space all about my frame.

Impending then, the answer.

So curious it seems to me,

to spend so many hours in pursuit of that

which may not take a form I’d know,

even should I ever come upon it.

Nevertheless, I thought

So ever I’d query

Whatsoever,

Wheresoever,

Howsoever long;

Until I came to there

which may not be.

Lucky it is then,

that I have come to see

that what I seek and what I think

shall never intersect under my command.

For the only thing I know

is that I know no thing

but that contained within

this very phrase.

And with every being out

in search of answers never found,

ought not we be so ever more

concentrated on the questions?