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.
I'm standing in the wind.
We had five years left to cry,
stay in, get things done.
The wordy gurdy stands
quiet in the middle of my head;
missing pieces [with just enough
shine] rubber-banded tog-
Back then, when she rose
from her beach chair, the weave imprinted itself
on the backs of her jiggly thighs.
Who would have carried it this far,
up the crest between watersheds,
then quit before the downhill?
This was your domain.
Pocket jingling a handful of brads, flat pencil behind your ear,
you’d bore through the browsers; pay and go.
When you rose from the sea
the crown of your head
touched the clouds
A conveyor belt delivers mutton and fowl.
Hot meringues suffer and collapse
under my ruthless fork.
His breath tripped over words stuck between his teeth
and tongue as sinewy shoulders curved.
The child stood, small, shivering in her tattered brown coat,
a dented, scuffed brown suitcase gripped in her hand.
mushrooms, beets, carrots, cabbage,
uncle’s ashen face.