Hooded among night drifts as September sweats out summer
Taken to walking, reading
my mind, mine and these sweet streets
strip sunsets, while Sativa burns-- blended in
Diesel--through my nostril, because my inseam keen
Waltzing to the Weeknd we get acquainted, again
past the lone Oak teeming with minions on weekends
fan folk to soak in rum and coke with powder nose
Bless Yous, stay over until tomorrow, blastin
sun rays, maybe in my, no longer now
I sizzle down, to the stature of mature St. Augustine green,
Freshly clipped quips to dip betwixt sidewalks and drives,
Among Ranges of fiberglass meets metallic rubber, I continue
Breathing into myself, my day, minding the curves,
filling the valley, with firm fronds, to prick, to prattle, to prove
inside my strides, I’m movement, I travel, I groove over
until I stop by and greet a young slick, smooth, gay maybe, likely
affected by these uppity confines, this WeHo, but
he warms, this heat and shared grins, no chagrin, leavings of
gladness, still tired – wired – alive – more
to know, moon with 10 o clock at 80 degrees of madness,
summer will relent, reels-of-real flitter from branches of banks,
demarcate funs, timely traditions to come.
Raised in Dallas TX and Portland OR, Joseph was exposed early on to a diverse array of cultural experience. In 2011, after marching through 6 years of school, Joseph received his Master’s of Professional Writing degree from the University of Southern California. His work has been published in the Aforementioned Press’s publication apt, and the Five 2 One Magazine Issues 12 &14. He is a tutor/teacher living in West Hollywood.
my parents have a joint facebook account bc my mom found out my dad was messaging someone name TexasTitties2006 in an online poker game and she lost. her. goddamn. mind and threw the tv down the stairs.
The bridge rumbles as I drive across,
Below me is yesterday's town:
brick crumbling, machinery rusting,
the industrial revolution's terminal ward
by the slow brown river.
my mom got us banned from the swimming pool at the trailer park we lived in because she punched our neighbor in the face for walking to her mailbox to get her mail in sexy lingerie.
New skiff of snow on the roads and lawns
and a full moon above the night’s overcast.
I drive past two neighbors — two older men —
shoveling slush, their sidewalks scraped clean
The ambulance drivers in this town have no clocks
in their homes. Instead, the kitchen tables bear
sandbags and bean cans
and old issues of Playboy.
Iodine adorns the night stand.
the worst thing i ever did was spit on a mcdonald's cheeseburger that my aunt bought for me and threw it at her feet because i was mad my mom kicked me out of the house the week of my birthday for telling my hot english teacher that i had been in foster care.
Their bones keen a brittle dirge
for departed faith in possibility,
legitimacy, carried to rest
on backs bent over.
Imagine planting a garden. Imagine planting a garden of only yellow tulips. You love yellow tulips, the dusky smiles, stems’ green neutrality. Yellow tulips are your favorite. So mild.
His head was an apple
chest proud, deadman's float
while rows of parents looked on
with drowsy interest
His ghost was with me that morning
Wandering round my room
While I tried to write,
Lifting the corners of my laundry,
Making the dust dance in the light.