“Learning How To Compartmentalize 20 Minus Ten”

Khaki slims held quietly in the closet.

I made a profession from pure observation.
I can’t stop thinking about death.
Or loss. 
My god why can we be so repugnant. 
Or beautiful.
Or both.
My body is somewhat of an over used book.
Read and returned, cheaper each borrow.
Or like Beck replaying your prom.
Once endearing and then nobody makes mixed tapes anymore. 
I see blue more majestic now.
I see you as conundrum.
How many showers will clean this old book, without smudging the wording. 
“My embarrassing admission is I am glad that you’re nice.”
And my blankets swam on the window pain. 
Joshua Tool-

Almost/October 

Advertisements

“When Zero Is Tangible”

Something touched me like a taser gun 

Like a lazy priest only tickling my raised adrenaline forced bumps and pink scars 
Like whatever he said was okay but broken 
Like Latin tongues struggle not to roll 
Riddle me this
Can a chicken really be a reference to how to be a man? 
Can our atoms thrust enough to create a heavy melted crayon observation 
Like fire was meant for our mouths 
To burn ears and hairs
To tell a story about memories that once made home a real place 
I burn every night
-Joshua Tool

Sometime/In/September

“Brackish;”

To be clear and unclear at the same time 

I created you in my basement. 
I made your hair out of recycled violin strings. 
I made you breathe with what is left of my screams. 
I made your hands out of old wooden things… 
I found them on the street.
I made your face. Your identity; with broken shards of glass from a mirror I broke when I was 17. 
I made your eyes out of marbles that looked like the oceans southern beach in a hurricane. 
I made your tongue out of the words that I drooled on my pillow whilst sleeping in a dream. 
I made out with you. 
I made you.
I made you up. 
-Joshua Tool 07/07/17

“Ode To Ma”

The click of the burner raised my ears.

Smelling the sizzle of browning butter. 
Coloring each slender bead of rice with a spice that only the South knows as home. 
More splash and turning with a wooden spoon. 
How can I remember things that I haven’t experienced with this array of sensations? 
Nothing like a home cooked meal. 
Our memories retract as our stomachs fill. 
You taught me soul: 
Love. 
Warmth. 
That a family meal wasn’t just something to pass the time. 
That it is re-energizing.
Cathartic. 
A social phenomenon. 
As we taste together. 
As we share our days. 
We are one. 
We are love. 
I sparked the second burner.
And asked you for the salt. 
This is everything.
I love you. 
-Joshua Tool 06/27/17

“It’s Kind Of Like Drowning, Only To Know You Will Be Resuscitated” 

Do you remember the first time we saw each other outside of work? 

I brought you to the everlasting DIY venue, The Flux Capacitor.

You wore a green belly shirt and black puffy oversized parka.

I was so scared to touch your hand but I wanted make sure you were safe next to the pit. 

I failed. 

The tide pushed the bodies and you were slammed into the wall. 

I felt so bad.

But you took it like a champ.

That’s the first time I knew I loved you, yet was still scared to touch your hand.

This was the purest form of how we were or knew each other. 

Now we hate each other.

Well, I assume you hate me.

It’s hard to find hate in my memories. 

Yet I try to wash your name out of my mouth.

I will probably be losing moments of my life very soon. 

Like trying to write on a blackboard with a pen. 

Soon I will find myself doing push-ups as I think about this moment. 

Where have we come.

I am still a creator.

I am still to overcome a task of the relentless daytime tv of prison. 

And I will.

And I don’t care where you wind up, as long as you are happy and the kids are safe. 

I will keep this with me as something to pass the time and smile.

And cry.

If only words were made of clay, I would smash the mold and reform where we have come.

Mabye they’ll have clay in jail. 

-Joshua Tool 06/16/17