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JJ Hutton Jun 2010
when the sweethearts left,
we took off our token smiles
and overly-kind eyes.

my roommate grabbed a beer,
quickly ****** it off,
i put on "beat connection" by lcd,
and the derailment of the night
began with some synth and burps.

i made a *** of coffee,
went outside,
the neighbors were having a party,
making a stew,
grilling chicken,
drinking,
drinking,
drinking,
and exhaling enough smoke to signal the natives.

"are you drinkin' coffee muthafucka?"

"hi, i'm josh, and yes."

"the name's chase."

"nice to meet you." *******.

before i knew it chase, our neighbors,
and about three people i didn't know
were in my apartment.

chase looked at a picture of lennon in
our living room.
asked me my favorite beatles album.

"probably sgt.peppers."

"you like that gay ****?"

"if that's gay ****, yes i like gay ****."

he grunted with rednecker royalty.

"the white album is probably my second favorite,"
i offered.

"man, the white album is the ****.
there is nothing else."

someone said they had some fire, if anyone was interested.
everyone was.

there was a dark-skinned boy, with snow white teeth and a fake afro, rapping as i clumsily played an acoustic.
there was a 26-year-old ***** and his 43-year-old wife
smoking a bowl in my bedroom,
there was my roommate vomiting on the carpet,
there was everyone
and
there was
me.
there was everyone
and
there was
me.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 668
future dust
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
future us,
is future dust.

future us,
will be sifted
through fingercracks
of future friends
that never
got to remember us.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 898
2-something
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
the music plays,
plays nervously
with reassuring caution,
as if to say,
“hey,
it’ll be
okay.”

but the sentiment
comes off
as
flimsy.

to add to
the atmosphere,
there’s one light on
in the apartment.
trying so hard to
be illuminating.
it’s 2-something a.m.

coffee is still being poured,
being drank,
as my sight rolls over a sink
full of ***** dishes,
and eventually
finds a busy cell phone
left alone on the counter.

the body moves momentarily,
the words flow with high viscosity,
the mind is traffic-jammed with
thoughts of casualties and
thoughts of beauty.

there is no her tonight.
no fingertips to trace the
lines about the face.

a good woman will reduce
a man to measly rubble
when left in the company
of
isolation.

there’s no meaning.
there’s no love.
there’s no laughter,
no, not tonight.

tonight there is only
that old friend misery,
and brief interrupting
respites of holy
memories.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 1.6k
amie's torture party
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
i didn't say a word.

the laughter was wrapping
tight about my neck.

two ex-girls were blushing,
my glance ricocheted off,
then landed on
my clasped hands.

i wasn't in charge of the party.
i only lived where it took place.

nobody had any alcohol,
everybody drank coffee or redbull;
talked with foreign
class.

i wasn't in charge of the music.
i only owned the stereo system.

so we listened to some pop-punkshit.
i started storing excuses,
in case someone asked me to dance.

the boys were all grinning.
the boys were all christians,
while they hunted their prey.

the girls were all grinning.
the girls were all christians,
while they still ran free.

i played priest.
kept my *** on the couch,
swore celibacy with every fired neuron.

lauren was gone,
and
amie threw a party.
she invited an army of
******* dressed exs
just to remind me i
hadn't outran my guilt.

the laughter started to wane,
people looked to me to stir
the conversation.

i didn't say a word.

i didn't breathe.
the weight of the room
was too heavy for me.

i cut myself from the stares,
someone asked where i was going,
my feet kept moving until
carpet
was traded for
concrete
was traded for
gas pedal
was traded for
anywhere distant.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 48.4k
She was a Friend of Mine
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
I'd like to think that she's thinking:

"How far have I fallen?"

As she sits on the corner of her bed,

Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.

I imagine her,

Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.

Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,

Then looking to her class ring,

Made entirely of imitation ingredients,

Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.


When she was still a friend of mine,

I never saw her wear make up,

I never saw her show off in tight jeans

or low-cut tees.


But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,

Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,

Next to the side door

that leads to his sister's side room.

The make up she wears

is from the night before.

It's skewed and shows evidence of running,

Like a wasted watercolor.


I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,

And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.

I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,

He's in grey sweatpants,

He's wearing a black tank top,

With a Confederate flag backdrop,

With two barely dressed babes looking ******

in the foreground.


His hair, unwashed and greasy.

He rubs his belly,

And bears an idiot grin

on his face.

Looking like he just learned how to smile

at this pace.

"Did it feel good?"

feel good.

After he asks, he scans her body,

Beginning at those crimson toes,

And Ending at that clumsy hair.

Every second he scans,

He still wears that drawn-on

Idiot grin.


I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.

Of my warnings and prophesy.

Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,

Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.

And finally reach the only thing she has on,

A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.

A t-shirt, when given by him,

It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".


Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,

During last night's expedition.

He still paid her back with a morning

one-sided session.

"It felt good" she says.

In reference to the ten minute *******,

When her body was strummed and plucked,

Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.


As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,

On a bed that is six days *****,

While he is grinning,

Being everything but wordy.

I'd like to think she's thinking:

"How far have I fallen?"
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 1.6k
fifth of july
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
a little pitter-patter,
postponed the celebration
and clatter.

a little pitter-patter,
**** on our family gatherings
like it made no matter.

pit-pit-pitter-patter.

pit-pit-pitter-patter.

no screaming lights,
the night to
shatter.

boys went on before.
went to unjustified war.
felt the hot

pitter-patter
of hatred,
of lead.

old polititcians
produced
a downpour of pretty promises.

in the form of
"freedom"
"independence"

give 'em pride
and a rifle.
push 'em a trifle
to strengthen their hide.

pit-pit-pitter-patter.

pit-pit-pitter-patter.

postponed 'til the fifth.
so we could remember
dead boys

in convenience.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 1.0k
here we go again
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
here we go again
i **** my head
and ready my
mouth to fire
back
rebuttals.

the smoke of
silence,
following
your verbal
onslaught
pours through
my pores
and pulls
my
trigger.

the anger-driven
bullets
fly fast and
pick apart
your metal
heart.

your eyes grow
heavy and shaky.

there's sorrow and
violence tucked behind
them.

part of me is
frightened.

part of me
is aching
for return
fire.

your volley is
scattered.
as if you are grasping
for straws.
desperate to wreck
me
for the
sheer
drama
of the event.

i drop my gun.
give peace a chance, i suppose.
i turn, decide
it's
time
to
go.

but before i retreat
you ask me,
"how many others have you said
i love you to?

this is you at your most masochistic.
the answer is an automatic grenade
to the heart.
you know that.
yet you ask that.

"four"
i lie.
the number is much higher.

"who were they?"

god,
you're just asking
for it.

i **** my head
and we go
to war.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 895
formers
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
they are already past their peak,
at only 18
that's a hard fact
to feel.

but if you asked
them how much
they had left,
they truly believe
they haven't
even started yet.

but i see decay,
gravity, and
metabolism are
already betraying.

miss teen something or other
rattles on and on about her
ingenious selection of
"georgia on my mind",
she doesn't come off
as a queen,
as she twitches with every
side glance toward me,
as her hands fumble
awkwardly,
as her ******* appear through
her t-shirt,
so much for something or other
royalty.

her friend miss broken arrow
of 2007 goes on and on
about her fattening ***,
but her friend reassures her
that the judges like that.

i can see them better than
they see themselves.

i see them as stretch marks,
as time-battered vocal chords,
as wrinkles, as used up
objects cast aside
like boring toys
flung by hungry boys.

50 years from now
if they make it that
long,
they will look into
withered mirrors
with runny mascara
about their eyes
and they will
wish,
that someone
would just recognize
them for the things
they did.

i feel so sorry for
the formers,
never again reaching
the height of glory.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 1.0k
shoutSILENTshout
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
there is havoc at the tips of his skinny fingers.
there is passion and fury in his rhythm.
to the eyes,
he is nothing but a quiet silhouette.
but,
his sound
burns through your ears,
down your spine,
falling toward the floor
granting religion to your feet.

the guitars are discordant,
the vocals are merciless and incomprehensible.
the smoke is perfect.
******* clad women,
drunken men,
just dancing,
crashing,
clashing.

i stand idle,
a regular sore thumb,
in the collective chaos.

but the skeleton in the back,
conducts the shouting symphony
with a barrage of symmetry.

scream.
howl.
holler.

focus and control are his,
not mine, hers or, any of
the other hims.
a psychedelic metronome,
a machine
of a heavy metal drummer.

sweat.
hips.
hands.

i watch him closely,
silence inspiring the noisy.
his eyes closed, his mind
counting,
while my mind
melts,
and all anyone thinks or felt
was the beating of their
hearts, matching the beat
of his drums.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
eyes close.
earphones.
"imagine".
feet hit cement.
feet hit in rhythm.
and then something
forgotten hits my ears.
hits my brain,
spine,
spills to my soles.

i forgot in myself,
what i owed myself.

eyes open,
street lights and speed bumps,
my habitat.
crystal conscience,
i realize it isn't the art of moving
your feet,
but the art of moving the ground.

no sound tonight.
just me tonight.

think of god.
wonder how he's holding up.
if he misses me.
i think of her,
how angry she must be,
but i know no regret.

freeze frames of
merciless memories
play on repeat,
as lennon snarls on the third and fourth track.
for some reason,
the night assures me,
god is really quite real.

for some reason,
i think of that passage where it says something
to the effect of if any member of the body should
sin against you,
cut it off/pluck it out.

all i would be is
knees,
        shoulders,
                    and a snout.

let me restart.
no degradation of my mane,
no compromise of mind.

i want respect,
i want the love of honor,
i want hope,
and i want people to say,
"he's living for today."
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 652
desperation love
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
it seems cold,
when i look at it from
your point of view.

me discarding your emotions.
casting them aside like dirtied sheets,
to sleep in makeshift innocence.

let me just feel my own pain.

take in my own mistakes.
the weight of yours
coupled with mine,
would only crush
my already
curved
spine.

your eyes when they seek
broader meaning in me,
simply, repeatedly **** me.

your words shouldn't be kind.
a smile is something you shouldn't be
capable of accomplishing.

when you grasp words like,
"i'll be anything you want me to be"
you cling to them, as you would weeds
on the bank of some tumultuous river,
"just give me a chance,
i will show you how perfect i can be."

but you trying to keep your head above
the water
is only drowning me.
Jun 2010 · 1.1k
we cowards
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
my father's name,
down the drain.

my mother's heart,
picked apart.

my old friend,
lost,
no chance to mend.

we cowards
commit our crimes
in circles.

we cowards
are blind, deaf,
yet loud.

his father, his mother,
once second parents
to me,
left sleepless and
ashamed to know
me.

a redheaded girl,
who i never had
a chance to know
let her tears go.

her mother burning,
anger at my
abuse,
deserving.

my old friend confused,
asking himself,
"was it distance that
divided us?"

we cowards,
so used to the
constant grind of our
lives,
never seek to make anew.

we cowards
let it build.
let it fall.
let the remains rust.
let our pride run wild.
let our eyes shut.
let our ears close.
let our hearts go cold.

if i thought i was dead
before,
i'm about to learn what
it really means to disappear.

i feel the judges whispering
condemnation.

i feel the pointing fingers,
the claims of high treason.

this coward is sorry.
but no apology will ever justify,
no eulogy will ever satisfy
your view of the guilty.

this coward is willing.
willing to listen,
willing to feel your pain,
willing to die,
die tonight,
if just one of you saw it
as gain.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 734
december
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
i saw the flowers fall in a flash.
winter's wind came with a bellowing crash.

i saw the stems bend and buckle,
turning into a heap of grey.

i felt my shoes become so soaked.
wading through wet concrete cracks.

i felt my heart beat so slow,
reminding me "it's time to go."

i heard the children laugh somewhat soft,
amidst the crying trees and their dying leaves.

i heard panic in the parent's voice,
unable to understand there is no choice.

in a moment,
in a blink,
the scene slipped
as though nothing
more than a dream.

when i awoke,
the sounds were all gone.

i sat in silence.
i sat in the rain.
the rain danced and skidded
along the contours of my frame.

now, there is nothing new to know,
this season had it's show.

i saw how lovely, lonely
nature could be.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 1.4k
legal tender
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
she was needy.
i was broke.


she was a mistake,
and i was tacked on
like the punch line to
a bad joke.


bought her chocolate milk and pop tarts,
bought gas and cough drops.


she said she'd pay me back in kisses.
kisses are nice,
but kisses aren't legal tender.


she made me dream death.
why would i hang on to her,
when i couldn't even afford the rope
to hang myself.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 973
what's left
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
he lies bloodied.
his idiot legs standing *****.
he's roadkill on cruel pavement.
and the rest of the world straddles
what's left,
between their perpetual tires.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
and i've grown weary of it.
the way they take the broken
shards of argument,
scrape and stab,
until everyone in the room is bleeding.


all for the drama of the event.


and i've grown weary of it.
the way they get their sweet tooth
fix on sugary gossip,
they chomp and growl
until the whole town is watering at the mouth.


all for the sake of boredom.


and i've grown weary of it.
the vultures hanging around the honest,
belly-bulging babes.
they wink and ******
until the best in us, is laid to waste.


all in the name of accomplishment.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
the thick frames surrounding
my prescription perspective,
are the curtains to the ceaseless show.


the same charade everyday.


it's a 4-15 minute drive from my apartment to the campus.
4 minutes if the dark-humored, aliens that control stoplights are kind,
15 if they are looking for a laugh.


my feet hit parking concrete outside of classrooms.
it's rhythmic yet mundane.
but it's a game we all play.


i fall into line, the slow parade of apathy,
that leads us to lectures each day.


the professors project views of wicked youth,
we like white, pull-down sheets,
sport whatever image they insist,
so easily.


it's branded boys
and
tanning bed-inspired girls.
it's blind acceptance and
weightless regret.


i want to change lenses.
pull the curtain,
and start all over again.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 1.1k
welcome to south fork
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
rainbow grocery,
a couple bait shops,
novelty trap parlors,
all dotted south fork.
everything was made in
old-timey, wooden cabin
fashion,
and the town knew no symmetry.


we pulled into the grocery store parking lot.
the store’s awning welcomed customers by
sagging without mercy.
we crossed the threshold,
entered into another time, space, culture.


the first sense to be stung was smell.
it smelled like cancer.
the kind that eats our grandparents
everyday in their stale, locked homes.
the woman at the register was ancient.
too old for retail.
she was clearly bitter, but
well polished in rustic hospitality.


and if i wasn’t already uncomfortable enough,
there were basketballs above the jellies on
aisle 8.
who does that?
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
Jun 2010 · 1.7k
nighttime
JJ Hutton Jun 2010
there is sweat sliding down the backs of my legs.
there is sweat residing on her sleepy self as well.
the blanket is tangled in knots,
my head is anxious and irritated,
her breath is slow and rhythmic.


the night bats her eyes,
laughs with security at the sight of my sleeplessness.
the night bats her eyes,
as i roll mine and reposition my legs.


lauren woke.
she woke in wonder.
lauren woke.
all perfect, skin all white.


i offered to sleep on the floor to cool our bodies.
she clung to me like a child.
i offered to sleep on the floor to cool our bodies.
she said, "please don't leave me."


a monster and a little girl curled up tight.
i said "goodnight".
a monster and a little girl curled up tight.
until the dark lost to light.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
May 2010 · 724
in memoriam
JJ Hutton May 2010
"i just feel so numb in the relationship.
nothing seems to mean anything."

"i know exactly what you mean."

"do you?"

"yep."

"how did you and scott get over it?"

"um, well to be honest i still feel that way
sometimes. i guess i just think of all the
good times."

a living relationship in honor of a dead past.
sweetheart, i don't think clinging to old
history is going to distract me
from the absolute fact
that everything
has gone
to ****.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
JJ Hutton May 2010
while reading the paper,
i came across an article
about
one of those messed-up
mamas
that leave their baby
to melt
in the backseat.

turns out the mom
went to elementary school
with me.

hadn't talked to her for years.

i did the only rational thing i could think of,
i added her as a friend on facebook.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
May 2010 · 647
bombing memorial bombing
JJ Hutton May 2010
remember when we used to joke about
bombing the bombing memorial?

that was morbid.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
May 2010 · 943
anna
JJ Hutton May 2010
lost in well-intention,
wedding bells mentioned
everyone expected to see
anna in white.

there were nights
the possibility felt alright,
my shaky, stained hand
loosely chained to anna's.

but
anna, i'm frightened.
but
anna, i'm young.
but
anna, my love may be mostly pretend.

the days move like parades of funerals,
words sound so important but dissolve incessantly
cold grow the hands, dim go the eyes.

there was a weekend of mercy,
when i believed strength of bind,
sorrow was distant, and your
novel face filled my mind.

but
anna, i'm frightened.
but
anna, i'm young.
but
anna, my love may be mostly pretend.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
May 2010 · 3.2k
lauren slicing avocados
JJ Hutton May 2010
glamourous indie rock n' roll
orbited our tiny kitchen as i kissed
the nape of her neck.

lauren sliced the avocados.
i prepped the pasta.
our neat little domestic life.

her eyes would ignite mine,
as she spoke of reinventing
the world with her love.

every word rang with perfect truth,
for she had dissolved my callused heart,
and focused my idiot head.

and that night i lied in blankets of her
mercy.
as she licked the wicked wounds
of complacent cruelty.

i've never missed her more.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton- For lauren
May 2010 · 1.1k
jeremiah, the miserable fuck
JJ Hutton May 2010
he's closing in on 18.
i met him a year ago.
he talked to me for 10
minutes about his cancerous grandma,
she had misplaced her right leg
from the knee cap, down.

running into him again
was not planned.

"yeah i'm the junior baptist minister
now."

"cool."

"i had a rough year."

"why do you say that, man?"

this conversation lasted twelve minutes, twenty-six seconds.
he had fallen in love.
a real religious lady.
they went to church.
ate after church dinner.
8 months of together.
then out the blue,
they had a heavy silent car ride.

she didn't let him in the front door,
when he got her home.
she said,
"jeremiah, i'm pregnant."

it wasn't his.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
JJ Hutton May 2010
she will always begin with a pause,
her eyebrows will lift the wrinkles of her forehead,

exhale.
sharp stare.

she will always open with some battered phrase,
something to the effect of "we need to talk" or
"is something wrong?"

i slide a sigh.
roll my eyes
off to the
distant side.

she will always hope the drama of the event
will scare me into a newfound commitment,
it did the first few tries.

look to her play-tears.
read them like a teleprompter.

she will always use *** as the scapegoat,
condemning me for my high crimes,
my dwindling light of real integrity.

read her my
polished response.

she will cry for the remainder of her waking state,
we'll open our eyes only to find,
ourselves tangled in one another,
sweaty from the weighty night.
she won't be crying.
and we'll be in love again.

over and over and over
and over and over and
over and over and over
             again.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
May 2010 · 1.6k
sex schemes
JJ Hutton May 2010
i plot *** like a 16-year-old,
the kind that does recon
on abandoned dirt roads and alleys.

i plot *** like a 16-year-old,
that can't decide between four
gullible girls.

i plot *** like a 16-year-old,
who truly believes salvation lies
somewhere between the thighs.
Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton
May 2010 · 896
north 35 as a nomad
JJ Hutton May 2010
i was two leonard cohen albums and three cigarettes in.
the night was falling in ribbons around me
and my empty passenger seat.

the windows were gracious,
hosting an onslaught of wind
that carved at the cool, contained
nature of my hair.

i was lost.

there was no meaning in the pavement
my tires demeaned at high speeds,
though i wanted there to be.

i took up two lanes,
as i fumbled the lighter.
i attempted to light the fourth,
only to find the fluid was far gone.

i felt just as worthwhile as the unlit
cigarette,
and cohen's phony sentiment.

driving pointlessly into the darkness.
looking for meaning that would
cling to me.

i wanted individual soul.

a holy moment where you know your life stands for beauty.
a holy moment where you aren't thinking about
***,
cigarettes,
ex-girlfriends,
and parental expectations.

i put on swordfishtrombones,
let mr.waits howl as my cancerous thoughts
ate away at my remaining humanity.

just night.
just a lonely interstate
with an empty passenger seat.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 593
betty's boy, john
JJ Hutton May 2010
died on mother's day.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton
JJ Hutton May 2010
sip.
utter ****.

never drink wine
that's cheaper
than the corkscrew.

sip.
still ****.

why do i want every woman?
all in the worst way.
my intentions are utter trash.

sip.
grimace.

my love is rehearsed,
well-versed in chick flick lore,
my love is mostly a slow bore.

sip.
spit.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 1.7k
how to disappear completely:
JJ Hutton May 2010
don't speak, even if spoken to
2. don't listen or attempt to empathize
3. don't comb your hair
4. don't shave
5. don't give your time to past lovers
6. turn off your computer and phone
7. tell your mother you aren't coming home
8. blow up your bridges
9. forget your name and friends as they were as synthetic as television sets.
10. and never ever smile

the weepies and worrieds will tell you there is a bible.
there is comfort in god.
and all you think is,
yeah, i already tried that scene.

the relatives and the rationals will tell you life is only as good as you make it.
perhaps when you fake it.

the lustful and the clinging ex-lovers will tell you they have seen beauty in you,
remind them of damage done.

go on solo strolls.
read poetry that
deals solely with
fire and brimstone.
and never ever smile.

and you will be just as satisfied with your plight,
as this vapor,
who already took his flight.
Copyright 2009 by Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 994
baby boomers
JJ Hutton May 2010
Put all the
elderly eye sores
in monochromatic,
ammonia scented
cages.

We’re sick of their
unsightly nature,
And their unjustifiable
hormonal
rages.

Who care’s what
lives they led?
What stories they could
tell.

Let them all go insane,
(if they haven’t already)
to the sound of a
teenage
certified nurse’s assistant
texting her boyfriend
like hell.

Let them rot in defecation,
and fears.
Let them pray to a god
who no longer cares.

Let us go to work.
Chase ***,
Apply lip gloss,
bat our lashes,
and drink
our beer.

Occasionally going to an elderly’s
funeral
to stare.
Copyright 2009 by Joshua J. Hutton
May 2010 · 2.0k
all bored boys start bands
JJ Hutton May 2010
they will smoke cheap, borrowed cigarettes.
they will drink cheap, borrowed *****.
and they will stay miles away.
and they will experience the most complex emotions.

writing small town songs,
dealing with cheating girls
              and
****** bags and godliness.

they will play at veteran bars.
they will play at festivals.
and they will flicker.
and they all will dissolve.

living at home with mom.
dealing with whiny girls
                and
******* and defense mechanisms.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 962
i was a pope
JJ Hutton May 2010
the culture cut into our wrists.
feeling all or nothing was the trick.
kurt and elliot were dead,
pretty prescriptions we all wed.

we talked vicious and vague.
it kept our parents afraid.
only bought music if it was recorded in omaha.
quoted lyrics to the traditionals, oh my god.

the corners of every corridor were crammed.
glazed eyes making meaningless, drifting forlorn.
"i feel sad"
"gee, that's awful bad."

if they weren't depressed,
they were called liars.
if they were on anti-depressants,
they were kings.
if they attempted suicide,
they were a pope.

projections we were.
of all the dead words we heard.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 676
if i gave a damn,
JJ Hutton May 2010
i would have given it by now.

i would have loved you, and we wouldn't be here now.

you can keep sighing.
you can keep running into me on accident.
you can keep dressing more minimally.

but i won't love you, and we wouldn't have made it no how.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 978
the death of the old man
JJ Hutton May 2010
you bought a megaphone so god could hear your cries.
you stole many a writer's pen, because you liked the taste of ink.
you broke your own heart gently for the ability to relate.
you sharpened your teeth on the spines of an old boyfriend and dusty books
written by dead men.
you are here to win.

i broke the cross around your neck and called it false advertising.
i covered my writings and body with gasoline for the thrill.
i picked the scabs on my heart because it's a bore to mend.
i strengthened my hide by digging a bed for myself in the warm moonlight,
dead men,
the best company to choose.
they don't judge,
and
they're cool with my decision to lose.

you created a monster,
then got ****** at your monster
for being a monster.

i created a ritualistic woman,
me at my most masochistic,
she fell me and used
my writings to
stoke my funeral
pyre.

fading flesh,
melting ink,

fire, fire, fire.
Copyright 2009, Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 1.3k
fallback
JJ Hutton May 2010
collapse into the bed.

i love the hours we ****,
the hours when our feet
forget the floor.

close your eyes.
pleasure centers and crazer neurons.
old soul music and moans.
****** asian neighbors and some televised war.

every sorrow dissipates,
every worry alleviates,
and every thought is silenced
by white knuckles grappling with skin.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 1.3k
deep water
JJ Hutton May 2010
my words
fell like a
power line,
fell like a power
line into a kiddie pool.

how quickly i became
synonymous with
a snicker and a sneer.


they hate what they
don't know,
and they'll
fell you,
cast your
dead body into
deep water
along with
your electric.

hope you
feel the
cruel sting
of your
creation.

but all i
feel is empty.

missing
the freedom of
oxygen.

missing
expression.

god,
i'm sorry
for one transgression.

i at least confessed.

i gave truth.

they drown you for it.
they disown you for it.

if you knew everything
your loved ones did and
said and
thought,
they'd all
be
shocking you.

my words
fell like a
power line,
fell like a power
line into a kiddie pool.
Copyright 2009, Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 2.1k
yellow eyes
JJ Hutton May 2010
my yellow eyes roll
as salt slides from the sides
of yours.
these sobs,
these sobs are familar
to me.
clearly etched into my memory.
it was the same with She,
that red-headed *******,
it was the same with Nature's Criminal,
and every pore of her persian skin.
my yellow eyes return,
and my stomach turns,
and my muscles tighten,
and my smile lightens,
and my burden builds,
all the while,
your limbs twitch,
your lips stitch,
and your eyes run scared.
all the while,
my cancerous tongue lay still.
as your accusations
ricochet and fall flimsily all
around me.
i sharpen my teeth on the notches
of your spine.
remind you,
you were once wholly mine.
silence the cries.
tell you everything is fine.
your blood begins to flow.
the worst of me you get to know.
i'm a monster.
i'm a ******.
i'm a plaster cast
of your prince charming.

let the yellow eyes roll.
Copyright 2010, Josh Hutton
May 2010 · 1.0k
you are gasoline
JJ Hutton May 2010
and you flow perpetually.
forsaken and lonely,
longing for a match.

a match to ignite,
a match to absolve,
a match to make you shine,
all pretty,
all light.
May 2010 · 2.0k
james w. green
JJ Hutton May 2010
i'll admit i found him humorous upon first sighting.
he was
obese,
with one leg,
in a motorized wheel chair,
wearing large sunglasses,
a volunteer firefighter cap,
and awkward headphones, circa '79.

"hello there, sir!"
he shouted as his wheel chair and body
shifted, slanted, bounced with each crack in the pavement.

"hey, how's it goin'?"
i called back, with a warm and hospitable tone.
i've been trying to be more social.

"i am blessed, but sir, would you be so kind
as to help me get some food?"

"yeah sure. where's the food?"
good deed for the day.

"i don't know, i guess around this here corner. i'm lookin' for that pizza place."

"oh okay, i think it's just over here past the bookstore."

"alright. what's your name, boy?

"josh. and yours, sir?"

"james. josh it is a pleasure to meet you. and i thank you.
you see i'm homeless, mr. josh. and you wouldn't believe
how often people turn away from me, josh."

"that's awful."

"yes it is. but i pray for them.
they need it.
may the lord forgive them. may the lord forgive me."

"here's that pizza place."

"excellent. would you go in and get me some food?"

oh. i'm buying him food.
that's what "help me get some food" means.

"of course. what would you like?"

i returned ten minutes later with a gyro, a pepsi, and some chips.

"thank you mr. josh," he said with a bright smile, "this will be a fine meal.
now, josh, you have done a good thing. look at my eyes."
he removed his sunglasses.
his eyes seemed normal enough.
"i ain't no druggy or dope fiend. i'm just james w. green. mr. green.
i was a bass player that just fell on some bad luck. now josh, i'm asking
you as a friend to just give me a little more, so i can eat tonight."

this made me uncomfortable.
i hate to admit it, but i began to suspect this uni-legged, bass player, of ripping me off.

i gave him a 5-dollar bill. that's a weeks worth of suppers at taco bell.

he said a prayer for me.

then he asked me on behalf of jesus,
"can you look into your heart and give generously? just one big donation and who knows what could happen!?"

i gave him another ten.

"thank you mr. josh. i appreciate it. remember me? and do me a favor?"

"sure."

"tell the world about mr.green!"

you're welcome, james.
Copyright 2010 by Josh Hutton

— The End —