By Bryan Thao Worra

Long the nail iron in
What’s cleft from time, the body seasoning.
Clamber, clatter, silence seeker.

Reek of all the morrows who round us ring!
I know well both sides our craven slab
So lustily devouring

We clay scrabbles, we clawed things.

Tombs are my books.
Bones are my poems.
Skin my page.
Breath, my ink
Read like blood, my essential kin.
Yesterday, my many spines.

The rags? Nothings after all.


More from Bryan Thao Worra:

A 2009 NEA Fellow in Literature, Laotian-American writer Bryan Thao Worra’s work is featured in over 70 international publications including Innsmouth Free Press, Dark Wisdom, Tales of the Unanticipated, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, London Ghetto Poets, the Journal of the Asian American Renaissance and Illumen. He is the author of five collections of poetry including On The Other Side of the Eye, The Tuk-Tuk Diaries: My Dinner with Cluster Bombs, and Barrow. He is a Many Voices Fellow of the Playwrights Center, and has received a 2009 Asian Pacific Leadership Award for the Arts from state Council on Asian Pacific Minnesotans. You can visit him at http://thaoworra.blogspot.com

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