Split the boy —his thorax, throat
Pierce-peel the craw:
A jag-crystalled crust —his black scoria, slag
(not Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled)
What no gizzard ground (could hope to grind)
What would not mesh
What would not smelt
Embedded undigested there in meat
Source: Poetry (April 2011).
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This poem originally appeared in the April 2011 issue of Poetry magazine
Atsuro Riley grew up in South Carolina and lives in California. His heavily stressed, percussive, consonant-rich, free-verse poems conjure up the elemental images of the lives of people inhabiting a specific, acutely portrayed landscape. His poems are dense with impressions, voices, and glimpses of people who have experienced the Vietnam War, rural life, and the South. Though grounded in a world that seems unmistakably North . . .
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