a tribute to the truly random

seeing the truth before me i reached out and grabbed a hold, realizing it was both too simplistic and too cumbersome to carry around like three stripes on a massive canvas. "why can't they make a portable version of this?" i asked for the zillionth time. you see, if the grains of truth could only be contained in something i could wear around my neck or write like an account number on a debit card or squeeze into three stanzas in a plain-chat: echoing. entirely the right syllable on the exact note. but it isn't and i can't- or maybe it's that i can and that it is but that it's simply beyond my grasp- taking a hold seems to suggest something physical but perhaps it's all just mental- perhaps it's just a dream. in any event, i think it's time i got some sleep...