“Name the lion, Tame the shrew”

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“The Archeologist”

My professor, tannin spat

Walked with braided legs

Skin of gin, skeleton pretzel soft

Parched in herringbone tweed

House on cinder blocks,

.

Dredged from the lake, his office and bed

Paisley socks, pocket protector

For too many words to remember

Blanched beads shift where eyes should be,

a glaucous pantomime

poised now only in parchment

.

My mentor, of houndstooth heroism

Buckled under water pressure

My glass sings tap water song

Pitching higher as filled until mute

.

A life in thistles to change young minds

Weeded and greener still

A give in his sides and chin

Sockets now sag, black and thin

.

Was it cancer or candor of cantankerous kin

I wish to fix my fathers skin

My teacher, slouched austerely, lamenting new learners

.

In the front row, with rabid spume, I stare

to read his whispered lips

To grant his grimace one last doughy brain to deep fry

.

An unhinged academic

Now shriveled and sedated

A dapper raisin, a mustached denizen of mildewed page

.

He tread through thought,

threaded thimble-less at the wharf of wet minds

A drop of blood fell, pinpricked by piers

To paint his brow upright in red

.

My professor, chemo spat

An archaeologist in his own right

Of wool and leather

Lain silk spun in oak and ember

.

To pass, baton of Baltimore

Torch of temperament

Through black sagged sacks

He lives in light, in leu of loss

.

My glass sings salt songs

Pitching lower as swinging chariots

Though not pious in flight

The wind prods the haymaker,

And I,

a secular scorch

in his knotted pine pipe

The big sleep, and dream, goodnight

-Joshua Tool 05/29/18

“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

“I Purchased My Soul On Credit”

In the back of an Uber XL,

unfettered, my inner woman gave birth to epiphanic entity

Inebriated ideations

Internal warfare on inner children

A loaded hibernacula

Wheeled 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

A bloated pelt and desert tongue

In the heart of the city

Nomenclature fell in mirrors of morn

To find my skull from last night stubbed

Protruded crown like two turrets but stone

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

And I purchased my sole on credit

-Joshua Tool 05/21/18

“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