The desert is a departing thief.
Black and white forming faint shadows
while breaking away an afternoon sun
into night.
Billboards stare back with origami eyes,
glaring with silver lights
onto roads running to the edge
of the earth.
Continuing with a deeper falling, we feel
upside down as if a herd of guitars were
chasing us.
We drive on with tailpipe smoke
and hub caps spinning off like steel drums
resting next to brush cactus
where tomorrow’s sun will consume everything
by fire.
Roger Singer 