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
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:
That a family meal wasn’t just something to pass the time.
That it is re-energizing.
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
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.
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.
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