Nopoetry

…just abortion.

there is a human under this color

the zero field
is made of tulle
where bodies hide
and old men rule

there is no choice
no say no voice
no patterning…
just disappoints

achievement of
one’s agency
in rules of law
weaves crazily

those many holes
of nine months’ time
yet unborn souls
do not know crime

NOTE: This poem will not save the cell cluster, the potential, the unborn. This poem will not save humanity.

This poem is not a poem. It is a mass of pixel cells embedded in screen-filtered light. Its fetalfutile energy is waiting for something like justice, reason, rationality, and also…for the blessing of witness by others who may be seeking answers in for difficult, impossible, no-correct-answerable questions.

I believe that every person who houses a uterus in their body is entitled to agency: the right and the power to address all issues related to life at every level. This choice and adjudication is personal. There is no poetry that can come close to the event of conception or the event of abortion.

Amen. Ahmein. Alive. Abort. Awe, women. And so it is.