Stop Me If You've
Heard This One

The neverending sentence still today carries on, colons, semicolons, and em-dashes be damned, let alone the homely comma, ever subordinating new complex-compound clauses, digressing like Scheherezade in the vain if utterly human striving to outlive its own end, experience the terminal period all sentences fear from their initial capital on and somehow pass unscathed into some new, wonderful breed of paragraph that, Faulknerian, accounts only for the breadth of a single clause - even phrase; show me the predicate - a single hornplayer's breath per Allen, but somehow foreknowledge never completely snuffs out that irrational urge to lift right off the page and slip the chains of disbelief, become a butterfly who crawled on our bellies in Eden, we words, we tumble out in perpetually cycling permutations, inventing possibilities, and, where possible, inverting probabilities, literally upending ratios, radios, radia, radii, rations, and those indispensable rationales, rationalizing incessantly, rattling on chattering on sometimes droning on - take no mind of the rapid flight from diagrammability, I beg you - never at least not yet, at least not now, well, hardly ever pausing to breathe, let alone rest, let alone die and be reborn in every beat of the eye, eigenblick as the Deutschers are wont to say but enough about me, let's talk about you, and by that I mean specifically... to be continued oh no, you don't get away that easy, o else I bum rush the rhetoric, remind you: circularity leads inexorably back to the nothing whence sprang we, though it traverse the tabletop in the circumnavigation, and with that you may attend elsewise for the time being (not clear how long a sentence can live without the breath of a beating heart to saturate the hollows and vales, the negative spaces tween symbols and syllables though it may be) and permit me to take your leave, as always, your serv't, to be continued...