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Joshua Haines Aug 2017
Bottle of Tums on the end-table
surrounded by an imprisoned fan;
a lava lamp of antacids, cornered by dead precious-metal presidents.
Some greying ceramic **** matriarch
has a bulb sprouting out of her head,
radiating fat yellow on the olive corner, also onto the loveseat.

I say, I should read.
I say, People don't like
  one another, anymore.
She says, I want to be a doctor.
Work with animals, she said,
Help pets and people.

Days go by like the shush
following blurs of traffic.
Am I aging too soon;
Am I important enough
  to care.

Try to sell me some
Pyramid Scheme ****,
the man my age does--
the kid--
He wants sixty-five for
off-brand perfume. No way.
How about, he looks around,
the manager's discount: twenty.
I say no. I'm sorry. I can't help you.
He says no. He's sorry. He can't help himself.

An American filmography:

A Thief in Brooklyn, 1997,
Dirk Diggler Productions,
A 20 y/o man breaks into
apartments, stealing pills
from the elder renters.

Ghost Before Sundown, 2003,
Marythrone Image,
A woman suspects she is
a ghost and tries to come to
terms with never succeeding
in life.
Joshua Haines Aug 2017
Be the reason I don't drink;
the oil in the lamp, car, pores.
Help me realize rock-bottom
in your backseat; two lovers
in a car on a cliff, watching
the dark brown sugar shores.

I gave up smoking like
it was my child. I couldn't
hold what was killing me,
no matter how smooth, mild.
And I can't hold this baby;
this burden bruising my bladder.
I told my father I wanted an abortion,
he said, "In this country,
your choice does not matter."

Be my reason, Pre-born;
not yet breathing; not yet
crying; not yet teething;
not yet amorous; not yet alone;
not yet loveless; not yet a stone
sinking far, sinking deep
in an ocean of heavy sleep
where you ignore my decision;
my ****** tells; my existence;
where your father is God
and erases all frowns; where
his presence suggests that he
created your hair, your smile,
your sounds; Where he is
responsible for the oil in
your lamp, car, pores; where
my only purpose was in a car
overlooking sugar brown shores.
Joshua Haines Aug 2017
Conservatives cannot admit
that the White Nationalists were wrong
"But what about Black Lives Matter.
But what about the Alt-Left.
But what about what Fox News said.
But what about what our ******* cartoon of a president said."

Think for yourself.
You are feeling bad for Neo-Nazis.
They killed people.
They have a history of killing people.
They would **** everyone that isn't white.

This country has become disgusting.
A large portion is defending the actions of terrorists.
White Nationalists, ISIS--
They are, literally, the same.

You cannot be peaceful
when it comes to Nazis.
By sympathizing with them,
you are condoning them and creating more.
The only good **** is a dead ****.
Be a ******* person,
think for yourself,
recognize true evil
when you see it,
you brainwashed *****.
Joshua Haines Aug 2017
X's dim bedroom featured two tones: olive skin and rind of lime. Like her walls, her sheets and comforter clashed. The contrast in color reminded me of 80's clothing.
In her room, X smoked cigarettes that tasted like a mechanic's finger. A clunky radio played 24/7.
  "Do your parents know you smoke in here?" I said.
  "What?" She said.
  Her parents were phantoms. She barely knew them, which makes me barely able to describe them. A week ago, I asked what they looked like. She shrugged and said she'd check the side of a milk carton.
  *** was the only thing that connected us. We took turns touching each other like we were being dared to run our finger through an open flame. I said I loved her. She said not to be silly.
Joshua Haines Aug 2017
Maggots boil from under her skin.
  I will never see her again.
I have heart aches that
  stem from mistakes.
I count them as they
  leak from her skin.

Her eyes are raisins;
  I will never find what
they last captured.
  Cheekbones higher than
my song. My finger brushed
  along all that was black
and seeped into her back,
  tripping on her vertebrae
like a boy frolicking home.

  The cacti stand still--
while I feel quite ill--
  standing in an ocean
of honey.

  The people stand still--
America is ill--
  standing in an ocean
of money.

  You stand still,
too afraid to ****
  an ocean of hate
you tolerate.
Joshua Haines Aug 2017
I imagine you're disappointed in me. I can't say I blame you. It is not my fault that I didn't become the laborer you dreamt I'd be, split palms stung by sweat.  It is my fault, however, that I became nothing at all.
  
  Our family was defined by a cardboard box. Your job was to move them, hundreds an hour. My brothers and I were raised by a box that puked The King Of Queens and censored 90's dramas. My mother buried Polaroids of frozen dance moves and eternal smiles, under fake jewelry in a cheap cherry box.

  And when I carried the box that ate my grandfather, I showed no stuggle, tucked in my shirt, not wanting to embarass you.

  And when I forgot the Sea Bass belt, I promised not to **** myself with, in a box at the ward.

  And when I carried the box that sealed my grandmother.

  And when I burnt the box of letters she wrote from far and away; trying to erase who I was.

  I think I have let you down, father. I can only offer myself the way I'd offer a box: disappointing on the outside with a chance of beauty in the inside, if you're willing to open up.
Joshua Haines Jul 2017
They spent the day
eating t.v. dinners;
she had Hungry Man,
he had Kid Cuisine.

Grandma changed the channel
from Middle-Class Meltdown to
an 80's cartoon about robotic bears.
And he said, Grandma, this is scary
- so she turned it to a show with
pre-teen children and vanilla jokes.

The sun melted into orange and purple,
spilling over the horizon like melted sorbet.
Surroundings purged a different dark.
Shadows stuck more than usual, she noticed.
The Lurking was present, even if she didn't
quite understand what it was or where.

A few days passed, where she could
feel malevolence nip at the heels of her home.
She remembered her daughter,
at a recital, dancing with grace --
this helped her fall asleep.

She remembered the phone ring,
radiating a green hue, stating
words she didn't understand.
Answering it. This helped her
wake up.
Joshua Haines Jul 2017
A weathered door of a face.
Her house, captured in a bubble,
on Anterograde Lane.
In the dark; in the corner,
her leg, scarred in cursive, propped,
like the whole of her frailty; on a
budget wheelchair, second hand.

A boy, brand new,
who will soon be old enough
to forget what happened.
What mother? On the road,
smeared with hot, gushing
jet-black highway blood;
encompassing the coagulated
being of what was, and, only
in hushed talks, a mother.
What daughter?

How old are you, this time?
These words slip out of a smile.
And she wishes she could hold him
-- but her frayed fingers fight back,
with every twitch trying to touch.
Delayed comfort becoming devastation
-- 4 years-old. She can hardly believe it.

Pain eats her grocery bag arms,
bulbous in her bones like
confused locusts, frenzied.  
The boy's eyes are a deep brown
nutrient-rich soil, perfectly fertile;
needing to be cared for and grown.

Forever, she could, protect him from
The Lurking that killed his mother.
At the very least, for however many
remaining years. Three. Five. Eight.
Becoming a lantern before his sight;
guiding him from dangerous design
drifting between trees, in the dark.
Found on the date of nine – two – three – two – oh – one – seven -
Barely more than one month after the grand eclipse of heaven
The revised twelve stars of Leo crown the head of the ******.
In her land of milk and honey, her labors merge in.

Jupiter encircles the womb while within the Holiest of gastronomes.
Mercury, Mars and Venus conjoined with Leo’s nine making the dozen.
Seventy-five days prior the New City’s Trumpet has merged with Put In
Calling for Levant’s retribution which will divide ancient Ebian within.

The ******’s head newly crowned with the temporal twelve stars of Leo,
At her feet quiver the sun and moon awaiting the arrival of Palladio.
She being with child cries in the pain to deliver.
The earth quickens the mystery in perfected position, as both quiver.

Nine months prior the consummation completed by NATO’s resolution
Casting out the promised land – this is real – this is not the imagination.
Jubilee last appeared on the eave of the six day war
Marked by half centuries, Jubilee returns this year once more.

The revelations of tribulation are set by a single star that does always appear
Every two thousand years and four thousand years ago it founded Israel.
Two thousand years ago this same star led the three kings to the king of all kings.
This star is visible for two years and appeared in September two thousand and fifteen.

And yet another sign appears in the heavens: behold a great fiery Red Kachina
Having seven followers and ten outcasts with seven headbands in the arena.
The Red Kachina drawing in a third of the stars, hurling them toward the earth.
This Kachina standing at the ******’s feet waiting for her to give up the birth.

The Red Kacina’s vile evilness waiting to consume Jupiter’s birth failing
To devour the newborn who is to lead all nations with a rod of iron.
But the child remains in the heavens with it’s mother to feed grazed
By the Red Kachina for one thousand two hundred and twenty six days.
Do you believe in prophecy. I'm not sure that I do. All I can tell you is that I have these dreams. I get up and try to write them down. I've decided to share some of them. You can find many of the words in this piece in Revelation in the Bible if you care to take the time to look them up and read them.
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