“Name the lion, Tame the shrew”


“Double Jeopardy”

“A Pound Of Flesh”

“Pocket Watched”

“Tumulus Nimbus”

My Headstone

Moss ridden and wormy writhed

A chisel misquoted my demeanor

A forgotten face like analog

They hover with nosegay

To pet and pray, my marrow-less shell

Entombed in a echo chamber

An ever lasting anatomy

of a decomposing time

To stretch like my once plump fleshy rolls

Cats claw pink down my sides

Crinkled corners passed down to type

They have misquoted my demeanor

Lost in the swell of cicada song

Shed thin as light

A rapture of the rising tide

Complaisant, emaciated bellow the shrine

Warbles and willows

As the graveyard groundsman mows the lawn

They misquoted my time

-Joshua Tool 05/24/18

“I Purchased My Soul On Credit”

My cheeks, speckled milky and flush as turnip

From bitter liquor, mislead as rainbow chard

I fumbled into the backseat of a black Uber XL,

Mane frazzled

Lipstick smeared

Yet unfettered, my inner woman, gave birth to new words

as the mindful man murmured Lazarus Lamaze

My garrulous gibber masked in muddled asterisks on mistaken monograms

Inebriated idyll

On carriage of dark horse

in gurgle and gauntness

Homeward bound behests my unencumbered rant

To the hooch hound’s hibernaculum

Wheeling the streets on South Broadway

Oblivious of back fire

Nay, backlash of gun blasts

Jesting the modern cabbie

Of crooked stories and impulsive turns

For the belly of the beast, lest not rest

Til famished belly stretch in late night delicacy

To sleep fat & steadfastly slurred

Grease & guts are gorged in heat

Slacking jaws like unhinged snakes

To pass through porcelain of midnight summers eve

To now

A bloated pelt and desert tongue

In the heart of the city

Nomenclature fell in mirrors of morn

To find my ambiguous skull from last night stubbed

Protruded crown like two turret spun tusks

And the blue birds withdrew their songs

A coffee, an aspirin, an ampersand on question marks

A kiss on strangers lips and moonshine mouth

Texts from last night, the fight, the floundering falsities

A baby born in snake oil

As the internet is forever

Charge it to the game

And I purchased my sole on credit

-Joshua Tool 05/21/18

“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