Cough Medicine

I choked on a cold and swallowed your ghost

Now you chase my breath as a lump in my throat

Losing you, secrets love never told

I spit in the sink below the mirror I broke

Blood on my lips and fists now corrode

Stories in your skin you’d never spoke

I read through your eyes as we had grown old

I choked on three words, never was quite that bold

Realizing time wasn’t real, just a reason to fold

But I’m all in this time, flushed as my cheeks

This hand is yours, a game with you’re ghost

Joshua Tool – 10/24/12


Wisdom Teeth

I live in the shadows and shelves of dark corner pantries

Only to creak and move to become fulfillment of hunger

Jazz dripping in your sink

Echoing sonnets of whispers

Crunching and slopping sounds into fences of plaster and porcelain

Skin only fed by teeth painting their purpose

As mine scrap over tongues

Silver seeming plastic

I love you in this

As the ceiling becomes dance flooring

I’ll love you forever

Because dental hygiene is important

Less than me

With dentistry

Joshua Tool – 10/18/12




A smoke and ivory waltz

The queen bites her lips to blood

Smearing cheeks of pawns with vermillion stains

My gray brain of rain and snow strips its weathered marble walls

To dream in your strands of rose and gold

To taste your tinny lips and wash in your skin of milky moon

A rook you mistook for a king

To be close enough but without angle

A lusting juxtaposition

If I a king and you a queen

Our game will mate and death you’ll bring

A kiss, a bite, a cheek of blood

A momentary lapse in lungs

Stain me now, my queen, my love



Joshua Tool – 10/09/12

The Boy That Cried Wolf Spider

Spider webs stretch and form pentagons from the cherry of my cigarette

Performing a ballet recital for the soon to come stills of clouds and breath of the autumn air that my mouth catches in a slow motion stance

Dirt and water sticking to this new arachnid aroma filled trampoline dining room

I cut the gritty silk with my karate formed hands and grind the smearing on my blue jeans

I hope they don’t smell it on me

I should probably wash my clothes

I flicked my fiendish fag into the ferns

Next time I will leave a torch

Joshua Tool – 09/28/12

Checkers In The Ward

Whisper was your name when you came to me in a dream

I still slur about you

And sit up in bed when I sleep

Afraid that I’ll catch you in the shadows of my ceiling

How am I feeling?

A little nervous that your bleeding through the cracks of my chapped lips

As the wind whips with the movement of your hips

Entrancing little constellation

They just keep telling me to be patient

But now I am one

And I think it’s terminal

Like the last image I have of your jet lagged funeral

Composed of notes you dance in a sundress made from the cloth of my bedspread

Singing of snow and the way it made you feel to be a part of a man made thing

Scanning the wall like the names on a World War Two memorial as you sing


As you sing.


Joshua Tool – 09/25/2012

When Pluto Was Still A Planet

I’ll gently dust off my eyelids and floss my jaw bones with violin strings

Remove the plastic wrap that has trapped my skull with the scent of our lull of lustful squandering

Push my fingers into your warm wet mouth and scrape your cheeks from there disco ball shaped cells

Only to suck and lick them from the tips of my paws to try and gain what you see in myself

A mirror on the ceiling

A clock on the wall

I wait for that feeling for when time fucks us all


Joshua Tool – 09/15/2012

From The Claw-footed Tub

Stepping down into the long white shag bath mat, my sinuses truly clear and sample what seems to be mulled cider from the next room. Like crop circles my feet sink and form damp impressions of my human hooves into this polyester blended slip catch.  I redraw the steam note on the mirror that has fogged beyond legibility. The periwinkle victorian wall paper patterns collecting beads of water as it would if on wax. Muffled violins limbo under the half inch crevasse between the creaky oil cured wood floor and the off white recessed boxed door. I brush my teeth while you sing along in your loudest voice to the soundtrack of a movie about people who write books.

The lights and computer screen flicker for a moment as the accordion radiator starts up. Melting the opposing frost from the above depression glass window that it sits beneath. The snow has now buried the streets and left its diamond like finger prints on anything inanimate. Webbing the absence and leasing it’s space for our eyes to rent.  I change into fleece bottoms and pass my humid hair through a plain white cotton tee as I begin to also sing and join you at the window to warm and stare at the deadest life that is winter. Swallowing us into blankets of white and sheets of ice. I run my fingers over the back of your hand and into the space between bones and webbing. Soft as the satin camisole you’ve found your way into, your hands converse with mine. This is it. The perfect moment. Forever our piece of time.


Joshua Tool – 08/15/12

As Seahorse

Gentle men washing their snouts


Gentle women scrubbing your calluses


Milking your anxiety


As forgiving as a trip over feet too large


As if one day our world that we have claimed will celebrate love in every way


The colors that blind will bleed from theirs pores and ducts


As children observing

As fathers coughing

As teachers pleasing grooved fingertips, pruned under water

Touch me as soft


As gentle as men


As gentle as women


Joshua Tool – 08/10/12

Speak Now; Or Forever Hold Your Masterpiece

White clocks with black hands, mirroring your red carpets and yellow tape, create such a native tone. I’ve never such a water based form of blood and oil, as your fingernails scraped into the wet soil. Screaming blue breath of temperate thoughts, I belong more quilted in patches than carved of a tongue.  Forked in my minds eyes and thrice forgetting my lungs.  My nose smearing trails of sweat from the makeup you’ve bled. If I’d ever learned one thing its never leave things unsaid.


Joshua Tool 08/04/12


Time will not slip through my fingers. Julius Caesar’s last breath nourishing chrysanthemums and Christmas trees. To be cut and framed in tinsel and glass. Lighting your hopes and eating your past. Time will not slip through my fingers. A knot on my thumb weaving infinite circle. Forget me now. Forgetting never. An elephants eye while mocking the water. Drowning in sand,  remembering oceans. Time will not slip through my fingers. As If time were made of molasses. A furlong of thoughts and inches to lips. Time will not slip through my fingers. Never going nor leaving, justly forever with. Time will not slip through my heart.


Joshua Tool – 07/29/12