Clockwork at Night are clunky, painful, verses of madness and alienation. These are poems for the damned and forgotten. Poems Charles Bukowski would have toasted a beer to. Poems Jack Kerouac would have taken with him on a long car ride from Lowell, Massachusetts to San Francisco, California. Poems for the wicked and perverse. Poems academic circles look their noses down at with pleasure. Poems from the dark recesses of a sick mind. Poems professional poets despise. Poems kindred spirits relish. Poems made with Elmer's Glue, pasta shells, and fire.
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