Hollow Headlights by Kevin Stadt
the herd careens along
eyeless, screeching rails
curving parallel lines of rusting iron
stripped from gaping pits
their sticky breath implies
a fixed curse of frantic extrapolation
they lay pocked-sized plastic frames
on vanishing fractions of
void
raked over glowing cosmic coals
ghosts in ropy webs and gossamer soot
ash artifacts on the air
stamp fingers with dark ink and
smudge wind, river, atom
dream flames feed in the knit of wet eyes
forbearing ice abides on the periphery
the pure cipher
of freezing rock in space
Kevin Stadt holds a master’s degree in teaching writing and a doctorate in American literature. He currently teaches writing at Hanyang University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Neologism Poetry Journal, Nixes Mate Review, Rust + Moth, The Sunlight Press, and Trouvaille Review, among others. He lives in South Korea with his wife and sons, who are interdimensional cyborg pirates wanted in a dozen star systems. You can visit him online at kevinstadt.com.