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.
When he had finished writing, and crossing out
and standing and rewriting, and looking
out his window, and feeling the sun
I stood and watched you sleeping, had
stood there watching for nearly five minutes in
the shadow of the
hallway for nearly five minutes of circus
time before I dropped your purse on the chair, quiet as death
If I could, I’d use
my recently purchased cell phone
to call the pay phone outside
the community swimming pool
in Fairview Park, Normal, Illinois,
that summer when I was eleven,
and the country 200.
It was the night we were told we couldn’t pretend we were Catholic.
The priest turned only toward you and said, “It’s between you and God.”
And you cried.
I dream of her,
childish and illogical,
straight hair and tiger-eyes.
My punk-rock gothic-pixie little sister fourteen fresh faced
We listened to The Cure during art class Made bongs and pipes
out of ceramic You taught me how to kiss people who could
never love me
Supermassive Black Hole swallowed your cackle-low
Cosmos whisper pretty Come here darling and you come
I hope I never forget that pack of middle-schoolers
at the playground near my house, how they acted
like middle-schoolers, shouting their conversations
across the neighborhood as if showing off new sneakers,
the boys doing mean things to the girls,
the girls saying mean things about each other.
head, right arm
behind the back, fingers
curled around the left arm’s inner
We all live on the Hudson, America’s only true river. It’s
a driveway, a landing strip, and a dead end. The Hudson is not the only river
to become a school, but it is the only one once beheld by the likes of George
Washington, Melville, and Sir Winston Churchill.