by Sean Garcia  /  poetry  /  14 Oct 2007
She's got a hell of a face,
As the plains of Amarillo.
A constant traffic of blind stares
From nameless, exhausted men
Driving themselves end to end
Of a forsaken country,
Passes over her face every day,
Like tumbleweeds down the road;
She lets them pass.
No fool's oasis, the pale blue of those eyes,
But a place peaceful and wide
And empty, a patch of sky--
And she's got a hell of a face.
So I'll leave my license plate,
Another number lost in her sands:
I'd stick around and stare
At the endless rolling miles
Of shimmering deceit,
But I'm searching for peace of mind
And I've got no life to waste.
If heaven wants to find me,
She knows where I am.
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