Tacos and Ashlee Simpson

Let me borrow
that face
to use in the backdrop
of this poem I'm writing
in
scribble words scratch
spattered about
in midnight
push pen
pre dream
and if you've
been to the desert
something about it's
people
screams inspiration
Do you want to see it,
smell it,
the teenage angst
it's thick here
and punk rock is
cool now,
so even
skater kid
grungy
faded chords
OP tight,
circa '75
skater shoes torn,
and his chick,
this beautiful
little thing
big blue eyes
dark hair,
in these curly
locks
jeans low
on waist
hips show
probably fifteen
lost,
but,
no girl looking
like that would
haved talked to me
in early
skater
baggy jean days...
Oh and don't forget
8th grade
best friend, now a cop
in full gear,
gun at side,
9mil.
still funny
8th grade smile,
friendly,
remenices with me
even though
beer breath
slurs in face...
Walk with my now,
into wind blow dust
in panels,
walls of
crunch in teeth dirt,
sunset
purple pink
to light blink
illuminate
low desert sky
turning into
the most amazing
shade of blue...
Now the colossal
structures
on horizon,
just giant swirling,
glowing blinking
burps of color
attached to these
shotty
bolt rusted
rain weathered
excuses for
carnival rides,
and it's builders and operators
standing next to
the small control consul
pupils
big as bullet holes high
smiling
at your fate
in the hands of his buddy
Roland,
who snorted
homemade meth
in the meth capital
of the world
all night long,
and the night before that
and haven't slept at all
for days,
but push the buttons
to your childs fate...