“ letter opener “

It starts with fingerprints

I try to leave them everywhere

I was doing something important in the rain

Guess it doesn’t count

It was washed away

It starts with the taste of sweat that beaded and now cascades my lips

Naivety was were I slept before casts were my only friend

It starts with blind love

It’s a feeling that brings braces and bikes back

When you thought I was everything and I thought you to be magical

It all starts somewhere ……..

-Joshua Tool 02/11/18


“Heart Shaped Handicapped Sticker”

a limp

Something that brings attention

Like your smile but crueler

I try to dance it off

Cacti swimming in my blood

Tingle and pierce

I shake my bum leg

I walk to you and kiss you on the mouth

I fall and kiss you on the hand

My princess

I am paralyzed from all of the years walking the wrong way

Away from you

-Joshua Tool 01/23/18

“Empty Spaces”

I find a tub

One that has feet

And that can also accommodate my scraggly limbs

And it sits in the living room

It is not hooked up to any plumbing so I bathe in only sun from the window

Splashing on dust and the furniture that has scratched the old wooden floors

and staring at the exposed brick walls

That look as if someone where playing piano when the mason had nestled them together

Tones bouncing and falling

The mortar dripping and hardening

I sit until my spine hurts like an over used bible

And stare at the dancing dust

I think about painting the ceiling cerulean

And decide that would be hideous

I think about Love

And what it means

I think about you

But I also think about me

And how there isn’t room for two in this tub

And I’m okay with that.

-Joshua Tool 01/19/18


“Memory Foam”

That single moment when I forgot what it’s like to share a bed

Was the day I truly let go of you

Now I leave my dirty socks all over floor and leave the light on until 4 am

-Joshua Tool 01/15/18


Like My Poetry? Grab Your Copy Of My Book! Link In About Me!


“Rock Bottom Is A Good Foundation To Build On”

I gave you my sour green apple starburst; you gave me the sour cherry flavor as even trade. Our mouths salivating; teeth squeaking and sticking on sugary colored corn syrup squares as we reached for the next one before we’d even finished the sweets on our tongues. Softly digging our nails underneath the small triangular waxy folds. Peeling its machine made origami in the blue tint of the tv as we lay naked in bed. I set my alarm to please our projections of linear time and set my phone back on its charging dock. I took my antidepressants as you’d crack the window. We turned our warm bare backs to each other, slapped and squeezed our pillows, and softy said goodnight. Weaving and stacking our legs and feet together. We didn’t even brush our teeth. 

I thought of this moment in the gas station the other day. I am nearly 30 days sober now with a whole lot of climbing back up to do. Quite literally, I am taking up rock climbing now; and meditation; I’m also building everything I said I would when we first met. Now do to a lack of sugar intake that I would before ingest with alcohol, I crave sweets like crazy and I had to make an impulse buy at a Shell on the south side right next to the highway. I bought some sweet and sour starbursts. I purchased them from a disgruntled attendant who looked at me funny, like; really? A 30 year old buying candy? Maybe it was just in my head. I shook it off and shoved the bag into my front gray pullover hoodie pocket and jumped into the dirty white transport van that was taking me home from my substance abuse class. It smelled like stale cigarettes and frustration. I’m not allowed to drive anymore. The sun was quickly making its way behind the mountains and was completely dark about halfway through the ride home. I pulled out my yellow king size bag of Starbursts, only to discover it was nearly 50% sour green apple and I had no one to trade with. I absolutely despise green apple, but I ate them anyway. I tried to eat them first so I would have the flavor I liked at the end.

I’m always waiting for the best parts at the end. 
Somehow I always just wind up with sour green apple and no one to trade with. 
-Joshua Tool 08/25/17


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.



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


“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