Poem: Fragment of a Dream of Atlantean Yellows

By Bryan Thao Worra

You are a mist for me, you thing of nevers known.
I weep your nameless name in my mind,
Your gaze a lightless inferno within a midnight hurricane.

You are a mist for me, you, beneath your shadow crown,
Thoughtless as steam between decrepit cogs and wind.

Trees make ready for autumn.
This city: Is that old burning Rome or Vientiane?

Clouds are savaged within the darkness,
Street lights always flashing to imagined jazz
Over concrete sidewalks, the smell of acid rain.

You are a mist for me, you, oceanic, absent
As a page in the Book of the Dead,
An asylum made of rivers and paint,
Howling, crawling without destination or intent,
A mouth of subatomic questions fluid
In its variations of impossibility
No mere human eye can taint.

About Bryan Thao Worra

Bryan Thao Worra is a Lao-American poet, short story writer, playwright and essayist. An NEA Fellow in literature, his work appears internationally in numerous anthologies, magazines and newspapers, including Bamboo Among the Oaks, Tales of the Unanticipated, Illumen, Astropoetica, Outsiders Within, Dark Wisdom, Journal of the Asian American Renaissance, and Mad Poets of Terra. He is the author of the speculative books of poetry, On the Other Side of the Eye and BARROW. You can visit him online at http://thaoworra.blogspot.com.

Bryan Thao WorraPoem: Fragment of a Dream of Atlantean Yellows