Distinction en Apertif

There is a blindness in me,
in my appearance
through what you see.

You believe, perchance,
that what I've done
is in decree
and is declared-
You think.

When all you know:
is what I say,
is what I show.

Caress

I watch, and match your every move,
disjoint in self, and radiance, too.

Something compels me to cross over scape
for our minds to match in soft embrace.
Soft like the soundless, vibrant air.
Soft like the sense that one of us cares.

As we loaf, in manifold harmony,
there is still a thing we cannot see:
The soft presence of dry dusty skies
has spoon-fed us full of lies!

c'est pas prudent

I've been reading up on Christopher Marlowe. Interesting guy... practically invented blank verse. Utilized the technique and live the span of his life before Shakespeare published his first play. Hell, there are so many rumours about Marlowe that he's practically been thought of as Shakespeare by some.

Decided to try some blank verse, stream of conscious. Which means there probably won't be a name for this... unless I titled it at the end. Then again, that would probably have to be stream of consciousness just the same. We'll see from here.


Staining walls with lyric and
sometimes copying the text
blank disposition nature's caress
tender guise unequal stipend of truth.

Fear becomes the style of which places
do jolt memory disregard existence
each later vision surmise volcanic expression
azure cries in crimson eyes of scant recollection.

Entertain thoughts preened by precision not for it
accustomed to tellers of blank notes, tote dysfunction
and recall the sitter's presidence asunder
a mental synapse an elapse of time the tick of a second.

Juxtaposed naturally free in spirit enchained outwards
in states unorthodox and akin alike
the pole does strike the sky grazing
alluded oil blaze beckoning great mercy.



For a title I've decided on "The Tollbooth is Intricate".