March dis•articulations poem by Terry Wolverton

At the beginning of the month, Terry gave collaborating poet AK Toney four prompts drawn from the media. He engaged in fevered writing with each of those prompts and gave the fevered writing to Terry. She used those words to generate this dis•articulations poem.


I ain’t the first bitch to travel
childless because I wanted to be King.
Womb’s like jail when you’re caught,
victim of a random, sweaty moment.
But I’m not fooled. I am no inmate.
I am the scroll of time, the picture
of power, particle and wave.

House of concrete bars—not my
destination. No locked world.
Scientists want to enslave the delta,
see it as mud or mist but
never flow. They rape my thoughts,
still I know my glow. A light being,
I shine with invisible stars.

I escape to nowhere, relax my worries
in clear air, massage my womb with dirt.
They never find me in this raw land.
My home is a spot in the hot sea.
I float just outside their view,
a lion on this decrepit beach,
a prophet of water and truth.



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