archive – Thistle Thoughts

Capricious

it seems we’re floating
in barometric confusion

Yes, life eats at me
Raw, difficult to digest

Those perfect pearls imprint
an enlightened message
on my fruit-thin flesh

born a heavenly body
not of her own

we become
our shipwrecked selves

no wild stallion could compare
to that grey-eyed girl…

Sun/Fire/Star/Porch-
light is too bright.Viscous eyes.

The wall is where we’ll hang
it. The empty space in the
living room where only the
dead spend time

weaving a tapestry of truth
in a code only familial tongues
can decipher

A speck in your space.