“Ambulance/Water Floaties” 

I hear sirens scream past my street about 5 times a day…

I am always worried they are coming for me.

Because I have stolen too many breaths from favorite poets and too many hearts in my memories.
I sit and write

And cough 

These cancer sticks have replaced where I used to breathe on your neck and ears. 
You’re now a soundtrack to my biggest fears.
Like listening to someone talk underwater.
“I’m not waving, I’m drowning” – P.O.S. 
I wade in sweat and sips of what was once your perfect scent. 

Or at least what I believed was you. 
I’m still treading, waiting for someone or something to pull me from the depths. 
I hope they jump in soon because I am gasping and as a smoker I don’t have the endurance to tread as long as I used to.
I hear sirens again.
I think this time they are coming for me. 
-Joshua Tool 07/23/17

No Oasis For Old Orchids

Our relationship was like the orchids I forgot to water for months.

So beautiful and full of color and life and potential for growth in the beginning; but I forgot to water you.

And like my orchids the sun took you away.

Burnt up and burnt out.

I stayed inside for weeks at a time after that.

Watering my liver down with an endless stream of alcohol, while I talked with my shadow about how badly it wished to be cast at my feet in the sun once more.

To run through the sprinklers and shower storms.

I finally made it outside again, but I sit in the shade.

I sit and smoke

and tremble.

I am not a religious man but for some reason I found myself in a prayer position.

My hands pressed flatly together against my lips, pointed towards the sky, dissecting my face in a vertical fashion.

My thumbs pushing into my lymph nodes.

Staring at the garden as I ponder if this was a taught position or instinct.

Somehow it felt right.

Like biting your nails before a job interview, or pacing in the waiting room of a hospital.

I play in the dirt in hopes to dig up some pieces of me that got burnt up in our drought.

I shook.

My DTs were acting up again.

Better get something to water them down.

I pushed my lips to the soft tops of my knuckles on my now balled fists.

Like at least I won’t let go of me. But I would.

I then pulled my head back and separated my fused fingers.

Even I let go of me.

 

We grew & loved within a carnal connection;

until the weather changed for the worse and withered.

My heart. My art. My blind and trusting romanticism.

Everything I worked for

 

I was doing alright before I met you,

and now even I let go of me.

“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

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