Kitten Cat (my little theo), a poem. 1/1/2017

Kitten Cat (my little theodore) a poem by Joshua

a kitten sits next to a cat

with it’s/his/her holiday scarf wrapped

neatly around where the neck should be

this thing doesn’t have one

no neck feline

washboard abs, do cats have abs? cats have

washboard abs? an eyebrow piercing,

tribal tattoo -no a barb,-ed wire tattoo

right above on a farmers tan bicep

the section of his arm he

begins to razor off the hairs

yeah, yes

this pussy can shave itself

boy cat

or girl cat

young and very cute

buzzes and purrs so much

you’d think he has a 2 stroke engine

motoring on down between his

little kitty ribs

right where a heart would be

a tiny block engine




untitled, a poem. 12/29/16

untitled, a poem

misery is a part of the

experience we call life,

you will feel joy again.

in one way or another

you are not giving yourself

what you need to thrive

most likely, that thing is love

loving yourself can be very hard

if no one else has really loved you

assuming though,

that you, also have love

and if you are loved

you will never see the true-self

until you see the you that is

through the eyes

of those who you adore


the new kale, a poem. 12/28/16

the new kale, a poem

you’d like to think

that her dreams

were very nice,

covertly plush.

soft, smooth edges spanning the length

inbetween the rounded corners

of a familiar shape.

plastic covers on the electrical sockets, too.

clear, flexible 3 prong insert

grossly overlooked and transparent

against a painters pallete

of the 2017 color trends.

last year: peach, pineapple

the year before that: kale

the use of food as names

run congruent with the soup du jour.

next years will be an off-white,

we call it cauliflower.

cauliflower is the new kale.

and i will take neither in the form of soup.

plastic pillow covers creek though-

and clash. and the zipper breaks

primrose yellow pillow is practically

bursting out at the seam

giving it some attitude,

some passion,

‘rough around the edges’

a much unseen disheveled display,

even for a seat cushion.

the dazzling blue,

blurring into the primrose yella pilla,

all mixed in front of that cadillac white

they brood the hazy purple

that has been named,

radiant orchid

Please note that:

your dreams show no evidence

that the color ‘radiant orchid’,

had made its way in

to that place i found in your dreams

when you were surfing your brain waves

and i was surfing your couch


slurred speech, a poem. 12/24/16

slurred speech, a poem by yosh dow

why not add happy holidays?

to that narrative,

right behind merry christmas,

if that’s your thing…

carry out your positivity

assuming you radiate any positivity.

its understood someone may not simply

go out of their way to say Happy Hanukkah

if that person wasn’t a jew.

that person on the receiving end-

may be wise to express their narrative

and respond to you with their own

seasonal greeting

all demographics should garner your best wishes.

that’s only playing fair

you protest nothing by “choosing sides”

the side you now choose is arrogance.


selflessnish, a poem 12.1.16

selfessnish, a poem by yosh dow

wipe my nose on the cuff of my shirt

wear my heart on the sleeve of my jacket

wipe the blood with my right hand

pour dirty water over top the pin hole

saturated brain, misinformation

but its still roasted, brittle and sponge like

its like i have no control over my racing thoughts

when i get the chance i beg GOD to think positive

when i get the chance i jam myself up to feel better

making so many plans, i plan to make nothing

this needs done, that needs finished

lets start this.

lets start tomorrow

i think that i’m thinking.

turning my eyes inwards,

giving up on blinking,

but thats not my choice.

it just happens

and i have no control

usually i can force myself to stop before

i cross the line

my head, what a mess

thinking of someone else

isn’t what i do best



Pretty Little Window, a poem 10.3.16

Pretty little window a poem by yosh dow

No windows, no doors, still trapped.

Painted, no, better yet, stained lumber that had been re-purposed from one of West Baltimore city’s many abandominium, ex-crack house, current crack house, current stash house, squatters squat. Reclaimed wood used to trim around a crystal clear window with four square panes and two symmetrical and identical intersecting lines. The walls are an easy mustard shade of yellow. Paint splashed all up on the stained wood carelessly. Details.

Details get lost in the multi task. Details: judgment of one group of nuances against another, thereby deeming one more important than the next.

That’s if you grasp the bigger picture.

That’s if there is a bigger picture.

That’s if you’re picture has a frame…

Our picture isn’t just a hole in the wall with duct tape around it, resembling the transition of perceived spatial boundaries associated with two individual occupied zones.

What was forward, where was my direction I thought I was cultivating.

Usually just going, I’d always just been able to chug along. Have there always been good reasons, great reasons for me to roll on.

Forward motion.

Hell, any kind of motion.


No times.

Lifeless. Careless. Dickless.

A Lot less.


One foot out the door, a poem. 10.3.16

One foot out the door a poem by Yosh Dow

Two hands on the keyboard.

One descript sequence of body language. Shoulders pointed away from the object(s) in front of me. Positioned to relinquish my duties here in front of the screen. Body language out loud, (when you say it, when it was said) had an intimacy? Sex, a naked effect on the ear.

My ear.

Both ears.

Probably split right down the middle between left ear and right ear. Square between the fucking eyes. Listening with both ears, all the time. Listening to everything. Never one ear more than the other.

Always full,

over filled,

acorn’d to the top.

Teeming and brimming with every syllable and every annunciation on words big and words small.

Words small to words medium more often than not.

Four letter words, and two letter words.

Fuck, Shit, Cunt, Cock, Hell, Coon, Damn, Dick, Piss

And No, No and No.

No, not two letters capable of a complete one hundred and eighty degree rotation of thought. Pointed right at and out of a window, if you’re lucky.


weatherproof, a poem 11.16.16

Weatherproof a poem by jesu mikael 


Opponents and partners in a blind trust

faith, placed barely with confidence

an agnostic soul,

pulled north and pulled south

elastic, ecstatic, electrified and magnetic

Traverse the plateau

You’re not going up so you’ll never fall down

No worries about a thick skull

It’ll be thick skin you need

White flight and white guilt

Reverse racism

Gender role reversals

Fall below your own standards

Let someone beat you

Like you beat yourself

Stand for what you believe

Fall for anything you can

Be something, be all things boy

At least be a man