She came dressed as a tatter
of string and bone.
Frayed ends knitted circles,
each thread horizon-like,
straight at a distance but curved
from above and centre.
With a basket of hollow cloth
she rode on the backs of psychics
and oracles, wove tales of confusion,
of inversion- of an out-of-body
experience reversed.
Her talent was more attuned
to possess than float free of foreign skin,
so they failed to glimpse past that surface
with their mysteries and inner eyes
fixed to distant lines, sketching
her future while false perspective
shaded the lie.
They said she was too dark for their sight,
a patchwork gypsy, homeless within herself.
Honorable winner
Adding your comment:
This is full of both great imagery, imagination and emotion. Very creative write here. Thanks for entering and good luck. Be well and be blessed
