joshua lampshade

by Travis Shosa

It spits

potassium tablets like

bees it seeks to rescue

from the pungent sugars of its

Laffy Taffy tongue and

Joshua Lampshade has swallowed 

a disco ball, it’s a peach pit vessel

of retro kitsch.

On Friday night, it

has a gig, hanging from a club,

draping off the wood. Joshua

turns: a child’s mobile! Its

tassel hairs swaying in a

ketamine breeze. The

organs emanate Bop It! glow, and

Joshua Lampshade tells a joke

about the patrons’ soggy cocktail

shoes. Its blue raspberry heart is

mistletoe for the kiss merchant and

Joshua’s eyes twist into a kiss

projecting the transaction on a

wall for all to gaze upon. The liquor’s

rising and it tells a joke about

itself. Joshua’s the it within your

shoes, the false bravado funneled

through your navel. Just adjust your

shades if you’d like to be spat out by

Joshua. Consider trimming your

skirt by one-third inch if you’re

soft and kind as bees. Do the

Charleston Crazy Knees, it’s a

treading technique. Joshua’s

joshing, so please exit in a calm,

orderly fashion

after your spit has been requisitioned.

Photo of Travis Shosa

BIO: Travis Shosa is a writer from Spring, TX. Their poems appear or are forthcoming in Maudlin House, fifth wheel press, Eulogy Press, and Waffle Fried. They have also written about music for Pitchfork, Bandcamp Daily, PAPER, The Line of Best Fit, and others.