Calling For Morning Poem by Brittney Karasek

i can't imagine the indians highway,
roads bleeding like paper ghosts in water.
souls loose,
and tripping into someone else.
into the light, the last of their days.
speeding east to west,
away from the dawn,
bringing the end of their lives.
green sky, black sun.
red shark, in the desert amongst the
trees of departure: saguaro bones.
lonely and left to dry,
to die.
and shade the animals dying in sync.
left cages within their ribs.
within their cages lie the bones of another.
trapped in fear, he will die.
to the same fate as the desert night.
the sun kills slowly,
the night rescinds.
it's cold here, at night,
the ground proves a king-sized death bed,
to be enough for the small pioneers.