POEM

Morning Reflection
By WAYNE E. YANG

The actor is a fiery child,
profile of a firestarter--
Yellows like phlegm,
Reds like blood that has dried
and left scabs.
The Blues are hot,
heat that is cold and burns
at the touch.

The face melts into background
of bloody tiles
and asbestors squares.
Dripping and hot, eyes
stare in burned-out glaze,
entrails strewn across the canvas.