Contributor: Kyle Heger

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Our fortunes told by invertebrates’
wings and viscera splattered on a
windshield, we weave down stretches
of highway pulled taut between signs
bearing the names of peace officers
fallen in the line of duty, following
stepping-stones created by the footprints
of clouds while dust devils dance on a
tired topsoil; oil rigs dry-hump exhausted
wells and middle-aged executives with
golf-course tans get a jump on the
three-day weekend, playing leapfrog
with each other in luxury cars, shrinking
away to the vanishing point on an asphalt
conveyor belt, sucked happily toward
the blast furnace of dreams with a
sickening slurp.


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