Ailanthus

In their distorting internal mirrors,
the battered and in pain
become the dragons mauling them.
Their spirits drain

to their spleens, which manufacture
a substance, viscous, green,
that catalyzes their hearts'
colorless acetylene,

igniting their dragon breath.
Then they breathe and burn.
The ones who did them dirt
are done to a turn.

The ones who stopped to watch
are torched to black pathetic stems
by holographic Greek fire
and ICBMs.