By STEVIE KILGORE, May 10, 2022
the reddened iris of a furious star
orange and fiery in the cold black
opens itself to the blue
flaming tendrils jutting like static
steaming liquid into sand
the creaking of a behemoth
is swallowed by the cold black
and twinkling white-hot holes
a vacuum of space
and humanity’s last hope of survival
she is barren and coughing
lungs dried like raisins or little
smoker’s exhales, 2 pack
barely awake at the co-pilot seat
chewing her cheek to stay conscious
as the heat overwhelms the mancala board
she drives the dirge, a compact
cargo boat in the sky
blackened and darkened and gyrating
shadows as it passes the sun.