Ugly Makes for Awesome Delusions, Sir Engineere


Hellbent on stamen and stipula

He knows no less than to associate

All crests interrupt when distraction’s wise

All crests interrupt in disguise

All hills tell them they belligerent witches to lie

To steal to die

In terms of lust or dust or rotten trust

I would do neither if I were broken

But to go on is life’s curse,

And leaving the forgotten behind leaves too much room for ghosts who know not

The disguise is foolish for it singes the skin

In other words

It doesn’t matter that much

Sorry, poetry friends; I’ve got to go now. Pumpkins and family to tend to.

Also thanks for the delusions. No really; YOU are ugly.

Cat’s Meow

Free game isn’t fair game nor famous disavowal of disgrance

Knew once the switch was in the side of the back but

The butt stitched too

So it has nothing to do with you

All called and forgotten

He went his own way

We Tracked Hymn Down

He knows every slip

E’ery psycho doth

But it is not to slip that is to want but to want that is to slip

And to slip greatly in rhythm with the tune

Scene dipped, he watches

He watches his timing well

When others think they are similar

To Plath’s fathers’ feet

Let’s take hymn down to size

Without inciting riot

Sane citizens

Who believe writing is violent

Colleagues’re Out There

Know where you start to start to start off well and strong

As strong as the


That separates you from disaster

As well


As well

As well


Timing that throws you off as well as me

I know,

I see,

Yes, there are others


In the field

Where we work

There are others


In the mind

That we think

And that we know

Others’ trauma may be nuclear but it’s the same ghosts that seem to harass me from time to time

(Every afternoon)

The crazies in this field–

The field ought to be burned–

Ditty: Tres Psycho

He who where wanted to know that his typography was off

The expectations lingering, he knew they knew they wanted him to know their influence was positive

It wasn´t

Not knowing why how where who did the thing in the night of the ring of the night in the place where epicycles backworded his night time vigor to know how when they were frightened

He didn know that they were

It was tres psycho

It was tres bombast