Hey dudes,

I wrote this poem from a Breece Pancake short story about a serial killer who drives a snow plow. It’s pretty decadent.

Raton the sign read

Think of that buck

Then at the bend

A young feller

With rawhide hair

A nice-looking young feller

Arm and thumb like

Soldiers do

The snow i see

come all the way down to fall like chimera for me

Thanks, he says

He’s a nice young feller,

Hair like buckskin

Teeth straight as a barber’s razor

Says I’m goin’ a Raton

Says it was cold

Nobody wanted a pick me up

An’ ain’t this where

feller show up dead?

Side a the road

Half a his skin peel’d off?

Guess you never can be too careful—

My hand over his mouth,

Find a kidney, knife against that buck

In the dead of night—I see his face

antlers on the wall

No, never too careful.

I lift my foot from the pedal

Chimera like snow

Breaks along the windshield to glide

down below

for me

Yeah, right around here; I think.

Has been a while.

Sure scared folks around here when it happened

all i can think is how straight his teeth were—just a boy;

that buck. Dead of night. Buckskin sheen

Under the lamplight

Of his hair like chimera

Say, I need a look at the map

It’s under the seat—

And while he digs I reach back; wrap my fingers ’round the wrench

But the chimera decides me:

i don’t feel like cleaning up the mess

Nice-looking boy

There’s no map under here, friend

Raton the sign reads 56 miles