“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

Sunshine & Rainbows

I regret nothing; for I am small as the mountains feeling up the plates in the seas first moon date

We hangout in graveyards and speak a dead language

I felt you up next to my grandfathers headstone, as we got stoned to life from shooting stars

Wishing upon blinks of light, like the fleeting of a birthday candles last flicker before you push your cheek’s pockets of air into its brilliant bright

And then… We had our cake and made our bed

I found you spooning the fresh soil and forking my mind

We washed our hands in a gas station bathroom and ate from the bosom of time

The loose speckles of dirt bled from our hands and fingernails as we lathered each other up in a cusp of sudsy brine

It doesn’t get more gangster than black on black Cadillacs lined up outside your bedroom window

Soon I’ll think of the shape of your legs when I cater to the dawns early light

Soon I’ll touch your nose with my nose and stare into your hazel eyes

I regret nothing; because you are Mother Earth and I am Father Time