i'm after the sheep, and let it be known that: i am the wolf... albeit my argument is a simple 1 + 1 = 2... and there's certainly some archaeological facts to consider as there are, qualms, to reconsider, in that: being engaged with... how boring life seems, without a shadow of doubt, or as kant would have said: shadow = something cold... well, with denial having to shadow, other than the body of audacity in lies... reviving doubt and engraving it in its shadow form, can be far from not being "uneventful"; true logic resides in grammatical shrapnel, conjunction, adverb, verb, preposition, etc., inverted dittoing is, oh so most faithful in the role of the prescribed tool of a hammer to a nail.

there might have been *the word
in the beginning of creation,
but there certainly wasn't
the onomatopoeia -
because that's that foxes mating
on a november night feels like:
i.e.: alright clear-****-antic-genius:
you try to get a word into
the affair! no?! no luck?!
i was just like you:
                                      no luck.
there are actually places in this
world the medium of god
does not reach, or ergo, fathom...
here resides a satan that
masquerades an accuracy -
     why do i celebrate a satan?
**** me, i'm not the one
auld lang syne - but with blind
milton i can compete...
               how can you possibly
engrave god in every creation,
worded, when man is
inaccessible in engraving it...
  sure, the cuckoo, the serpent's hiss,
but language has barriers as to
what can can be question by god
who is fathomed by words...
deus est non hic omnin -
god is not all "there" -
why? because man cannot engrave
the animal onomatopoeia -
i can't the mating of two foxes with
words -
  i'd have to be reductionist wriggling
in depicting ******* *****,
you, sick, ****!
                     no, god is not everywhere,
god exists in what i write,
but when i comes to foxes
i can name a creature, but i can't
write you an onomatopoeia of
a fox's mating calls, once more:
you, sick, ****!
                       if the genesis story is
true: god does not watch ******* *****,
sometimes a sound is but a noun,
on the rare occasion an onomatopoeia...
but that's ******* rare...
           if god is the word,
he's not exactly apparent in the moaning
& groaning of foxes mating in the night
in early november...
                 i can't spell out the sound
these male & female foxes made...
   clues: hey! god isn't omnipresent!
            proof?
  you wanna hear two foxes having
a go at making a litter of vixens?!
come to essex in november...
  have a whiskey sharpshooter while you're
at it...
              now try to put those sounds
into writing:
let me give you one word of advice
you'll most certainly need: FAIL!
      ******* aboriginals of
culture...
                   you do not have the tools
to note the exactness or proximity of sound...
we already know this due to
edenic english, with its missing diacritical
marks... ******* thought they were "smart"...
       yep, smart enough to
remember including a full-stop,
  jolly-roger wankers,
                                    ****-load of cockneys.
you'll sooner name a hydrocarbon
than a mating call of a ******* sparrow -
   you'd need a satanic alphabet to
actually write, the exactness of the "words"
spoken by other animate things...
        as any architect will tell you:
i can make a ******* violin from a horse'd
mane and some oak...
             noun vectors -
but the onomatopoeia observer?
no one but satan...
                       ultra diacritical ambitions are
at play...
                    there are the obvious:
the cuckoo with its coo coo echo chamber...
but the growl of a lion is hardly
polished goods minded by a grrrr...
           so it appears, man akin to god
is not omnipresent, when sharing the medium
of encoding sounds, perhaps genius
in terms of photography,
  but may i stress, a necessity akin to milton,
of toying if not merely admiring
the vanity project of any man befitting,
in complimenting satan?
          even if we do reach mars,
we will never write down in all concerns of
accuracy, a "worded" attempt at replicating
the mating calls of foxes in the early november night;
am i right to add a peckish,
if not an outright piquant: oops?!