Part I. Sensing

Sonnet CXLVII Transbliterated (016)

Shakespeare

My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly express’d;
    For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
    Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Transbliteration

My love is like a fever
	Always striving
		Starving the symptoms
		Feeding the disease

The appetites of infirmity are sure to famish you
		For this
	The doctor loves me


	Angered by prescriptions he can't fill
He leaves me desperate to try something
	Even death
		Though not a physical one


	Picking up a cure
Reason pays me no attention
	A frenetic gift
		Each time
		More insane than the last

My thoughts wander
	To confident truths
		Vainly expressed

Could you judge me impartially?
	While remarking on my brilliance?

Are you as black as the flame
	That will burn me to a shadow this night?

Sculptures

From line 2: “The appetites of infirmity are sure to famish you For this The doctor loves me”
From line 3: “Angered by prescriptions he doctor can't fill”
From line 5: “Picking up a cure Reason pays me no attention”
From line 6: “A frenetic gift a cure Each time More insane than the last”
From line 8: “Could you judge me impartially? While remarking on my brilliance?”
From line 9: “Are you as black as the stylized flame That will burn me to a shadow this night?”