September dis•articulations poem — Terry Wolverton

For our collaboration, Terry gave collaborating poet Donna Frazier four writing prompts. Donna engaged in fevered writing with each of them and gave the results back to Terry, who then used the words from that fevered writing to create this dis•articulations poem.

BEHIND THE GARDEN

You, cowboy, did not dream the trail—
needles of red dust circling
in unexpected dialect,
cha-cha of the diamond streets.

I shook a river from my hair;
it still flowed the color of ink.
Tattoos sprouted on my legs — deer
striping a path, shade of cedar.

The conversation was extreme—
not human, but something tender
falling from the tongues of roses,
unanticipated music.

Mouth of cactus, forest of prey.
Why does the turtle try to fly?
Fingers the color of saplings,
we waltz on a green edge alone.

The vibrational speech of skin
cannot be slowed or stopped, sounds like
a lasso tying me to a
swing, odd crunch of leaves as I drop.

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