“A Pound Of Flesh”

A teaspoon of honey

Glazed in gold, fruits of flower

Snails to the end of the silver spoon

Steamed milk in lavender cups made in China

Bovine and lattice mingle in the dour of day

It looks like rain

Belladonna is calling from the shade

A whimper

The stale of subtle plague

To have my cake

A pound of carrot

To eat my cake

A pound of flesh

To lay in dewy grass of double chin

Sated in scone and tea, I sing as the merry martyr kisses the garden

To channel the soil and inherit the soul

To give up Arcadia and rest in the mud

To bury ones pride to colour the bloom

Grass is greener equated with blood

A pound of flesh for an ounce of love.

-Joshua Tool 05/26/18


“Pocket Watched”

They are painting the streets again

Pot holed, bumper cobble stone

High noon & moons reflect the invisible lines like cataracts

Gauche is bearded men in neons

A cigarette for lunch

A sun-beaten man plays harmonica sloppy down the road

Metronomes like meteor crash

stomping the earth

Hair peppered with Memphis smoke

He never asks for the time

He too of cataract maps

Despondent yet diligent

Water cracking in his cup

A cigarette for lunch

Besotted, I stare

The orchestral hymns of garbage trucks guffawing through the slender side-streets

Fusty, foul fragrance

Yesterday now spoiled and forgotten

Church is letting out

Brilliant colours of the congregation doled from the pews to drab sidewalks

Gray women in bright wicker hats

The best saved for the seventh day

Sartorially suave And scrumptiously sweet

Like ripe cherries would share to greener the leaves

They are painting the streets again

Emphatically bleak

Bleached on fault lines

Crooked as teeth

I stepped on wet asphalt

I fled to the tracks

To balance the map

of who is staying

And who’s not coming back

-Joshua Tool 05/25/18

“Lace & Candor”

Bright beast of morning glory

Curved in silky camisole

I found all your sweet spots

like bruised fruit

And my neighbor is mowing the weeds

Puckishly the rib-caged bird sings

Rook black bedsheets of lace and candor

Exposed like polaroids

A delicate dichotomy of lustrous restraint

Tell me a story of kismet connection

I’ll do my best to abstain

-Joshua Tool 05/16/18

“Troubadour “

Monochromatic morals

Preambling pious plight

Oysters sheen and coral

Our worlds not black & white


Ambiguous by moniker

Rebuke such tasteless trite

Love is simply conqueror

Resplendent through the night


Colors of the troubadour

Sing songs of endless might

The beauty in the boudoir

Ineffable sound and sight


Clandestine to the churchy folk

A universal light

For I am the troubadour

My worlds not black, it’s bright

-Joshua Tool 05/16/18

“To The Top Of The Turret Shell”

Manically myopic I have found myself in black opal

In the glean of your gaze

A constellation of cygnets danced in the mood of onyx

A salsa on the sand

One thousand miles and counting

In our amorous abode of the rising sun

I picked the carrion pith from my teeth

A chagrin in my carry

But not need for the sullen, the heart bleeds and pumps

A lurid language of lust and persnickety restlessness

My moon, your moon, theirs as well

Careening our carnal deeds, the current pulled in

I hung my hat and flag

You lay with moxie, me and him

Compelled in our quandary to find the centaur in the sky

Flaming arrows to light the streets

1,000 miles and counting

To drive or retreat

-Joshua Tool 05/15/18

“Scotch Bonnet For The Masochistic Mother Earth”

Tumultuous thick white-noise tapped and slapped my pane and sill

In the liminal ebony and bright of flustered flash

My teeth ground to beetroot and flesh of goose

Not for fear, for elated eyes to be encompassed with the songs of wan whirring whirls of wind

The background copse correcting their cast

I think of the juniper wind in late July

The lilac and aster thatched for the cellar door

My nest for next of kin to name

Honeysuckle lapping up the force fed feast

The secret stones and cool of underground gardens

The sconce impervious to fizzle, but to burn a path like a scotch bonnet to the tongue

Will you meet me in the woodbine?

To taste the frozen sky and warm in the whispering dim

I think of subtle sweet on your lips

The safety of the vines

The knavish blight on skyline lain

Could never fast our fiendish fain

-Joshua Tool 05/13/18

“Nocuous By Nature”

Cryptic flowers;

Chartreuse , Lavender, Cerulean, Blush

Bloom & pilfer the sun

Boasting proud necks and handsome colours

Black permeates the eclipsing clouds

They march closer in timpani rolls

as flash-bangs light their way

A late afternoon without sun or moon

Forlorn in the ether

Such affluent clusters of corrupted colour

A conduit to qualm

I strung my nihilism into a daisy chain

I drove my feet through the rhododendrons until morose became moot

I cyphered your colour wheel

The nascent of my afterthoughts

A beginning to and end

-Joshua Tool 05/11/18

“I Don’t Clean Myself For Me”

My face, blanched and cut with rose

Niacin flush, naive as prose

Chattered teeth bequeathing cold

Spiting my face, I cut my nose.

Orange aura with palpable pulp

Belly burnt like gizzards gulp

Pathos purge and pencils dull

Writhing hearts swallowed whole.

Golden guillotine, ring my neck

Picking your brain up off my bed

Pillow talk with musky breath

Salted skin pressed on my chest.

Your voice carried between my sheets

Robbing river banks for free

Murders flock and black the sea

I do not clean myself for me

-Joshua Tool 05/06/18