There Are Just Some Places a Rag Won't Reach

I try too much, my dear to shove it down
my throat and in my back but you
dance to my sadist inside of me the frown
its for my eyes you've lost my view
you can't be thrown by my loss of your gaze
I'm chasing mistresses below your neck
my eyes my gut my fist all match the haze
I can't decide whether I wish a check
on scrubbing blood from in between the gaps
of tile floor or brushing hair with one
hand and same is patching up the pants and traps
walking away with sin that finally makes a ton
you really should have hidden what was yours
cause now the fuzz will have to scrub the floor

Aaron Pittman on the End of The World and Being the Last Person Alive

I'm sitting here
watching pornos
I should probably go eat
like some of that cereal I found
beneath the flipped car
no it's most likely radioactive

I'm not even wearing a shirt
anywhere else they'd laugh
my coke bottle glasses rung with dirt
and my beard screams of World of Warcraft.
they burnt all the damn toilet paper.

this is a pretty big highway
that's a pretty nice Mercedes
I'm glad THAT ONE died

My shoes are getting worn from all this wandering
good thing I can trade them out for a pair anywhere
there's only a hand full of guys with my shoe size
that's what's scary

On Tyler Allred at Family Barbecues

Forsooth my ass
dreaming quietly about the lipid lipid of my family
and TV

auhchch
I choke on smokey meat in love that doesn't really exist
or that erupts from my mouth from my mother
how evanescent that little display
this September air isn't cold enough
I dance with llamas
if I didn't I would leave.

Sugar

The snow a deep sugar up to the knots that watch the low lying

Past he straps the rapid rhythm and pulls his lip a black tire

Rubber black and lopes through the cynic contrast the cynic contrast

The sky knows too well it’s the same as the ground and the wind

Sings so high that it’s crying with the untrimmed hair

His paws his paws soft to jump to his teeth

Something like a centrifuge left to die and become the mountains

And so white it makes the aspens colder and colder

The    grey    wolf sleeping half like a dead one and more like

Just lying there

A stuck one with an open belly an open belly that’s filled

It’s so        quiet

The barrel swimming in water and dusky red leftovers

Hanging open from the legs

He’s done

The 16 or 32 wheels flat

Moping over and over the trees     till his bed is found and

He can roll back and forth

Grey over blue over the white

The first one finds him not an ounce of surprise in his face

And too quickly does he step on the head

Not even a torn muscle for the hopper the runner the fortunate

Roaring like a butcher knife through the steel and the steel too hot

Find the corpse melting into surprise and

For and for to the left to find his den

Back to the sonnet step

1927

Torn around the waist

The lipstick looking frightened

The branches tearing at your shoulders

Looking like a monster from 1927

The stomach for stomach stomach skin the air

Reach your arm out

Maybe wind will swim like leaning lovers

Or snatch away your dance

Don’t run too fast

You might get away from the dozen

Courting fangs

Hello there

The dust upon my suit coat

Imagines

The heat you caused reaching

For my hand a million miles away

Like never

The eye glancing at my

Melting shoes

Like forever

Never running faster toward the

Devil and the air