The Frozen River Poem by Wedge Tai

A scorching sun. The sunlight --
madly dancing flies, that suck your
bare brainstem against your skull.
Solidifying into ice upon this
ancient river, it is scalding as a red iron,
smoothing the patterns on your body, and impressing
a stamp of a tiny ant.
Here, numbness is the only
color. Our busy gills are but concerned
about inhaling oxygen, and sifting
muddy sand for gold grains hidden therein.
Occasionally, there are a handful of outcasts
who stand upright as a pen, blowing bubbles
of despair toward a distant starry sky.