“Bloodline”

The click of the burner raised my ears.

Smelling the sizzle of browning butter.
Coloring each slender bead of rice with a spice that only the South knows as home.
More splash and turning with a wooden spoon.
How can I remember things that I haven’t experienced with this array of sensations?
Nothing like a home cooked meal.
Our memories retract as our stomachs fill.
You taught me soul:
Love.
Warmth.
That a family meal wasn’t just something to pass the time.
That it is re-energizing.
Cathartic.
A social phenomenon.
As we taste together.
As we share our days.
We are one.
We are love.
I sparked the second burner.
And asked you for the salt.
This is everything.
I love you.
-Joshua Tool 06/27/17

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“It’s Kind Of Like Drowning, Only To Know You Will Be Resuscitated” 

Do you remember the first time we saw each other outside of work? 

I brought you to the everlasting DIY venue, The Flux Capacitor.

You wore a green belly shirt and black puffy oversized parka.

I was so scared to touch your hand but I wanted make sure you were safe next to the pit. 

I failed. 

The tide pushed the bodies and you were slammed into the wall. 

I felt so bad.

But you took it like a champ.

That’s the first time I knew I loved you, yet was still scared to touch your hand.

This was the purest form of how we were or knew each other. 

Now we hate each other.

Well, I assume you hate me.

It’s hard to find hate in my memories. 

Yet I try to wash your name out of my mouth.

I will probably be losing moments of my life very soon. 

Like trying to write on a blackboard with a pen. 

Soon I will find myself doing push-ups as I think about this moment. 

Where have we come.

I am still a creator.

I am still to overcome a task of the relentless daytime tv of prison. 

And I will.

And I don’t care where you wind up, as long as you are happy and the kids are safe. 

I will keep this with me as something to pass the time and smile.

And cry.

If only words were made of clay, I would smash the mold and reform where we have come.

Mabye they’ll have clay in jail. 

-Joshua Tool 06/16/17

“Skin Graft”

I saw a window.

It was of the inhabitants of our nocturnal natures.

I kissed your hand in this mirror and you kissed my forehead back.

We wore matching outfits like a fucking Gap commercial.

It was solid baby blue sweaters with paisley under button-ups.

I loved it.

And than the house caught fire with flames like we had burned for each other.

The firefighters started blasting their green phallic water “whatevers” onto the flames as the smoke rose and the window broke.

My mirror is gone.

I only look at a soggy ember memory.

I saw myself try to jump out of that window for self preservation.

But I never quite reached the guts.

Now I have a chard face that no-one, not even I, had the stomach to look at.

So maybe its good the window broke…

But the memory remains.

You were burned into it, as I tried to douse the passion with my own salty watery eye drop “whatevers” onto it.

I go back to that house from time to time.

Luckily there is still not a mirror to reflect my unrecognizable face, but your memory still lives in those blackend walls.

I mostly sit there and think…

And weep for our perfect mirror.

If only I had enough water to lend, we could still reflect in that nightly window.

Exposed and perfect.

Next time I will…

I will put you first out of the mirror and use my water to save our window.

-Chronicles Of A Flame

-Joshua Tool 06/14/17