You Cut Your String But Not Your Ties

Into rusted old bean cans we would talk of our dreams through a piece of red string from our upstairs windows above the side yard

Then four years later we were caught in your mother’s laundry room so called, “fornicating” on top of the off-white soap stained washer between the dryer and the steem cleaner

I wasn’t allowed to see you after that

Another year had passed until I wrote you a letter but it was more like a song when I recited it to you through that same upper floor window

By this time you had a boyfriend and I had a complex

I couldn’t help but to watch you water the lawn and walk the dogs every dew ridden morning before he picked you up for school in his high school 80’s starter car

The paint job reminded me of our rusted tin cans

I remember the day he left you for cold in front of your snow buried steps

You cried in my room the entire night

It was the coldest night of the winter and your pants were soaked to the knee

So you found yourself into a pair of my favorite navy blue sleep sweats

I held you until you fell asleep on my freshly made bed

You consumed yourself under my plaid down comforter

I watched as you softly sniffled yourself to sleep

And before I turned down the night and held you through the winter

I stared at my tin can in the corner of my room and entertained the idea that you would probably never make me your lover again

And red as that tattered string, I kissed your lips for the last time as a lover

The snow spoke of pianos that night

And the wind chimed us into slumber

A place I wanted to stay

A place that I could still dream through a string

Joshua Tool – 01/25/2008

I Fucked A Flower. I Grew A Garden.

Last week you gave me your pillow as we slept blanket-less on the hard wood floor

Fevered glands finding themselves in wet regret

Friendly hands no longer find

Trying daily to drink myself to sleep away my pining

Yet even when I spin to sleep

Its never quite the same

So I sit here and vomit for the trend

Cause I don’t think I’d ever seen you bleed so much

Oh how the colors raced down your face

Like fireflies in the night time skyline

Your eyes lit up

And the room dimmed down

Now we lay amongst the wilted wallpaper

And attempt to reinvent this room

Oh, and will you flush that condom for me?

Joshua Tool – 04/13/2007

Her Name Was Scarlet… 
Yeah, She Liked To Sleep

Our windowsills swell and creek’n speak in rainy tongues

As its gray noise wisps outside the window’s TV-like pane

Channels constantly changing

I want nothing more but to hold you in my autumn arms 

and watch the world fall gracefully into the gutters

Only to form a bed of leaves for our winter napping

Time itself will never be the same

Now that we’ve swallowed the seasons 

our bodies become cameras

With film fixed and focused eyes

A storm was stored in our pupils perspective polaroid

s

Novembers turning imitates our song of sweet nothings

Joshua Tool- 12/18/2006

My Claustrophobic Heart

Last night I watched the leaves divorce the trees from a neighboring bench in a November park

It just so happened that my lungs had a date with its crisp autumn breeze

I thought it was time that I finally got a breath

And I lifted my head only to view those very trees shake hands with the retiring sun

Implying a candelabra

Their fiery limbs shunning the mirror-like buildings

In that same moment I flicked my cigarette into the new nights dew

I felt like smoking up the scenery

For I no longer yearn for your breath

I am content with my bench

I no longer search for someone to fill the seat next to me

Your existence has widowed my will

So here I shall sit, with November as my witness

I here now renounce my lungs

I here now retire with the sun

Joshua Tool – 11/15/2006

I’ll Stop Being Bitter, When You Stop Whispering Other Guys Names In Bed

I remember when I used to kiss your innocent little patches of freckles

Your soft skin would make promises in the dark

As time went by I would watch you come home every night and re-apply the rockabilly rose lipstick you had smeared on all those denim collars

Just as fast as I could change my clothes

You would change your mind

Now they will name streets after you

For the legend you held in bed

So you achieved some asphalt

So what?

All I can do now is hug those corners and kiss the concrete

Well you better bite the curb and smile big

Until those pretty little lips wear a new shade of red

Joshua Tool – 10/17/2006

In Our Laps We Hold Our Lapses. In Our Hands We Hold Each Others.

I’ve pealed away the cellophane from this oh so poised typewriter and already I have tarnished its pearly white keys

Crisp pieces of bleached paper lay ready to be used

As skeptical found itself to be an antonym in my prior late night coffee crossword

You see perfection is my phobia

And this is not perjury that pours from my lips as I press them against yours

So when suburbia fades into symphonies of grass patches

The void will cheat in tongues

You shall be free to test the timing as I will be stranded on this step

I was here when they uprooted a garden only to watch the soil starve

They took photographs to remember what survival looked like

And that night, we all danced barefoot

As I picked you a bouquet of keys

From the incoherent weeds

Will you make yourself at garden?

Will you embrace this design?

For I am so deep in this, I am at a loss for words

Joshua Tool – 09/01/2006