TEXT poetry

Christi Terry

Not a skin disease as such, it fails to respond
to cortisone’s touch – and will that brainy itch
ever die? It’s more than one can bare, and I swear

if I have to write another one
I will curl up tightly, head tucked, ham-fisted,
twisted into the foetal position, before flinging my arms wide
free-styling through spinal fluid to the finish line.

‘This is the practitioner coughing up the creative process.’
‘This is a joyful exorcism of self-reflection and artistic contemplation.’
Putting it out there, I throw a joyful tantrum,
a frenetic toddler having seizures on the academic floor, where
my fists beat a throbbing exegetical drum solo.

Academics give a collective gasp,
roaring lusty approval of my bravado, my foaming lathered spectacle
sets the bar, of course, and
a low whine of swarming discontent arises
in the quivering bee hive.

I use big words like esoteric and Machiavellian, incorporating gender theory, queer theory
post-modern theory and non-theory theory.
I’m so carried away I even throw in the Big Bang Theory.

I’m on a roll, both figuratively and literally, as I tumble
down the tunnel of the exegetical funhouse, past the distortionist’s mirror
where I look too fat and then too thin,
it’s the Adventures of Vela all over again.

Make your point! they all cry at once. But I’m spinning on the dance floor
making mad love to the lectern, I’m really putting on a Ricky Martin show
and it’s all about ME, about MY creative flow, what’s in store,

what I INTENDED … my exczema-gesis … and what’s more,
a reference list of academic peer-reviewed journal articles … minimum of four.

Christi Terry is a recent graduate of Griffith University and is currently employed as a content writer for a Gold Coast digital marketing company. She is also involved with planning open mic reading events for Smallroom Writers Collective, Gold Coast. She lives in the Gold Coast Hinterland with her two daughters, dogs, cats, chickens, and assorted wildlife.