Mind Your Onomatopees & Q’s

Being reduced to cardboard & cashmere wool

I couldn’t believe she’d ever felt safe enough to fall asleep next to me

Snoring the way our mountains slowly moved as I’d chop you down to a monogram

Ensuring you’d stand for something beyond my incessant rambling

I remember the small pauses before polishing your naval with speeches of protest

I would read your lips and study the clock as your belly grew bold and buckles grew grotesque

I fevered with patterns though I promised you rock

Encumbered by my heavy flesh

Constantly pulling on my skin to make sure I’m still existing

I made sure that even our god damn trash looked good

Spewing sounds and rounds from my mouth like a machine gun

Like speeches of keeping my fucking name…

Singing to songs too times too fast

The way that children do

As if we were gifted the same unknowing of a metronome

Growing up is and outdated idea

God is an art form

We became pregnant with pragmatic principles

Where as: The sorting of socks

Where as: Taking time for leaves to fall on our chest

Either swaying in the pew, or in the bathroom stall, taking pulls from pocket shots, beer cans, cigarettes and all…

…Got is an art form.

Falling asleep…. right next to me….

Self sacrifice is something for casinos.




It’s hard to feel fresh in a dead town

It’s hard to build nests in a campground

It’s hard scream loud with deaf sound

It’s hard to smell flowers as a bloodhound

It’s hard find rest without enough money to sleep…

Joshua Tool – 11/23/15