Loitering the weekly chess match

A park and a landfill betwixt

Chrysalis complimented flight the insects coaxed the breeze into kaleidoscope melodies, like frogs in bogs

My moor of peaty wanderlust with a lowbrow stagnancy of wasted earth catty-corner my serene solace land

My famished furver found facet of a dream

We are left here without boxes

Without circles

Though we are birthed ear-marked for an inexorably nostalgic future

To be remembered only by our online presence and digital love

Lamenting for simpler times

Stead the over-saturated air waves

A trite & tousled trap

Hexed in bewildering and tenuous thought

The malleable make good cities as the myriad of martyrs build better jails

A forced hand in the farce of society

Inured ingrates mocked the sun

The icebergs

The flood

The round earth as it spins on its axis

No poker face bled your physiognomy

A lier to himself

It was time to chose a forfeit or slow passing


And the clouds did shed their acid tongues


-Joshua Tool 05/12/18


“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

“ If These Walls Could Talk”


An old house

Do not feel lived in

I’ve been painted 100 times

Made it through two fires, a home birth, four pet deaths and a suicide

Yet I do not feel lived in

My pipes are rusted

I spit mud from the sink

I have seen 200 Christmas mornings, 938 birthday parties & 7 wakes

My walls have rattled with storms and basement parties; stained with smoke and smiles

Though I do not feel lived in

From spinsters to cowboy spitters

I have watch generations of toy trains get put into boxes

Young married couples come inspect me and plan a nursery in my vacant spaces

I’ve watched them grow old as their children leave for college

I’ve been handed down 15 times

Now they are making room for some condos

A bulldozer sits in my fields and I where a flag of foreclosure

I never quite felt lived in

But this is my burial ground

I will still listen under the packed dirt for happy tenants playing

For those Christmas mornings & birthday parties

For those college students smoking on the balconies of my successor

You may break me to pieces but my walls will stand posthumously through the wreckage


An old house

Have seen it all

Or at least thats what I thought

Maybe I have always been a home

Without the sense to let go

-Joshua Tool 05/05/18


Brazen, brash, clickity-clack

Your mouth ornamented, unsavory ash

To speak with flames that follow paths

Of future me, unlike my past

A bruised drupe, strung through your teeth

I pick my pride up from your feet

I find my fork and start to eat

All those flames from hearts that beat

To share the dark would tickle me

To light a spark and finally see

The finished you that will not speak

Of devils spit that burns your cheek

Brazen, brash, clickity-clack

Your mirror ornamented, infinite lapse

When waves follow through, the flames become rasp

I’m leaving tomorrow and not coming back

Brazen, brash, clickity-clack


-Joshua Tool 05/04/18


It was summer

The night, dark blue and stark naked

It was a traveling festival of sorts that smelled of smoked meats and petrichor

I pet the dew with the under of my forearms as I lay beneath the view

The drunks began to seep from the woodworks as the children went home

I too, basking in the brine

My nomadic bones pulled me into a poorly lit tent with a muddy grass floor

There, a wrinkled old woman sat silently in a Romanian tongue

She reached for my hand and began to scan the whorls of my grip

The hair on my neck rose as she said no words

Just kept brushing the curved path of my future apex and wains

She looked at me dead in the eyes

Staring into my sole

Somehow I understood Romanian is the glint of her gaze

We both stared silently within the flicker of flame

She then slowly let my hand down and blew out the one candle that would illuminate this make-shift tent

I wanted to ask so many questions

She just nodded and smiled out of the corner of her mouth

I then kindly paid her and quietly left

My friends still at the beer stand, I joined them as they punched each other’s arms and called each other pussies

They asked me were I had been and I told them I had went to a fortune teller

They laughed and asked what my fortune was

I replied,

“I don’t know”

They went back to their drunken pissing contests and I just stared at the stars

I had another beer and went home

I suppose the fortune is in my own silence

In my gratitude

From time to time I will think of her and stop to look around myself to see my fortune

I still see her eyes in the stars

-Joshua Tool 05/03/18

“My Drive With The Magpie”

As oily rainbow puddles rippled under my tires, a pair of off-white teenage Converse hung, swinging from the power lines

The clouds smirked down so drably, dreary and dour

The eager sheen of traffic lights painted the black asphalt as the car lot flags danced in the slant of mist

A haven for me and the magpie

Contently chatting through the squeak and grunt of old windshield wipers

He was almost as ostentatious as an owl but with great wit that dripped from his wings

He mostly spoke in riddles

Puzzles for me to solve

A black bird with a sharp tongue

The ground gurgled with each passing car

and the A/C pushed my cigarette smoke through the small pinch of window

This was quite easily my perfect memory

I still recite his riddles in the rain

My world became different with a birds eye view

Learning what to spit out and what to chew

Forever to cherish, share & memorize

My experience and conversations

My drive;

with the magpie

-Joshua Tool 05/02/18


I am thirty one

I am 31 and still can’t grow a proper beard

I have three chest hairs and I am watching the clock count down to midnight

I do this every night

I do this to ensure that I miss the liquor store before closing

What a glorious routine

Every night

Every night I stay up til’ 3 or 4 thinking about how I let the liquor store close

Thinking how easily I could sleep had I not watched the clock count down

I sit and listen to sad songs that make me happy

I read and write and then stare at my computer for the rest of the night

I am surrounded by beautiful things but all I can see is the clock

Its almost here again

Another battle with sleep

Another war won with the liquor store

And now it is time to stare at my computer screen

I am thirty one

I am 31 and I am barely sure who I am

I am thirty one

It is now twelve O’won

I am thirty won

-Joshua Tool 05/02/18

“Dance & Decay”

Blush satin soles pressed toes to an antique wooden stage

Opaque tracers flashed in the brilliance of winded emotions

Elegantly smashing across the frame

Her feet to be a megaphone of love and lust and loss

And arms to break the air

Without words to muddle in a glass arena

This is her safe in a secreted place

To scream and dance and finally decay

This is her story in an act of ballet

This is her soundtrack that burns to be played

This is her strength that you can’t take away

This is her strength

that you

can not take away.

-Joshua Tool 05/01/18