The Rapaire
By Rutic Rebel

I have come in a stately disguise, with trouser pockets full of dried blueberries.
I know of what I speak of mainly, for cause and justice and I fear not a bluish tounge that will whip a frenzy of a mannerish thought into an air of discreet notion and pentance, I will reveal.
My manner is but lofty and distiguished, as I saunter with my pocketful, and maintain a wishful thought that it remain so, as I casually taste of the sweet fruit upon my tounge buds.
Be it so sweet, like an air of flowered desire, for I am not of sour or salt.
My scent of rational thought lingers with an epicurism of fiendish delight, yet I am softened of belly.
Let the law of life revel inside, as I languish in the empathy of blueberry pocket treats, and permeate a breath of inspired blessedness unto the bluish stains of my fingertips.