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joshua gage
joshua gage is to northeast ohio writing as acid is to vitamin
capsules. he says you can trust him about as far as you can throw
a wet mattress up an elevator shaft, and even then it's best
to shoot him in the knee, just so you know he won't run away
on you.
Pastoral nomenclature
I wander the streets of cracks into the utter far below. The
water level another type of stolen identity feast, grown on the
blood that scars the heavens. I, a tall lanky fiend. He like
medieval armour. His hands belong long over gathered dregs and
needy. He slides among hope and dreams caught-they don't even
touch the street and out of the darkness as though he were above
us. Mentor, my Pavlovian bell, the path of Orpheus he is. Gifts
in a case of brown amongst the boys' dancing heads. They barely
watch with night as a few of us go out before the eventual caging.
Call it NEWS, as though we wait for our holy flower cane to supply
such a heinous event's demands. Barter goods for commodities
forced only in lighters and neon illumination. Come for the odd
thrill of Moloch's broken hide, belly of steaming humanity and
a corporate world like bacteria lambs, ripe and fuzzy. I lurk
and wait, for he wields a long overcoat pocked with ash religious
order. Fallen through the cracks, his patients like a red cross
tight in capsules, or its filthy coating. Between patients, this
is our father. He is the reason why we wait. Leathered, as though
the concreted girders knew we exist. Only we're sickened, glued
to our mighty explosions or personal wiltings that weren't as
old as man or St. Luke, our party withal. He will wallow amongst
the souls and perhaps deep in the guts of more than stars. Or,
reaping a heavy crop, he'll step boldly over the beasts. Here
business worlds live in a dish with parasites under the tracks
like no other man. Add a battered fedora and grill spit. He a
group of gentlemen, ministering to the sick fallen angels, pardoning
balloons. His feet just float in other virtues. As a figure,
my Socratic love descends. He will come bearing a harp to play
clouds above our half hour on television, enthralled across the
cosmos we all face. Still, with his rabbit hat, all the strings
and bows that he has cash and trade darkness, where play angels
only of hollow men. I'm overcome with bouts along the concrete.
On leaving me empty and in the distance of red negotiable affection,
our intrepid hero shows to peruse the products in the name of
a quick tonight. Perched out luscious beauties, both the world
of fishnets their bodies. To slip would be such a paradise, this
pair of lovers, stars of our basement world. Above their wares
and call of duty trades, each muscle and languid lean against
a honed technique. They are sweet succubus enchantresses. One
a scrawny red. Across her flesh, dripping promised sins sing
music with each ultimate intimacy halo. Tattered above into our
in exchange for souls, trading brief escape from this their altar.
Despite deep seeded guilt and both sides of me alone, at the
bottom light sparkles, though more importantly, a warm up. I
amble towards before laying down both fix and a few diseases
side the door into obviously fresh miniskirts. Oh, between those
thighs this dripping cross invisible. Indeed, they transcend
upbringing, taking their realm of supreme art spot of flesh honed
on the brick wall. Each are not just ladies, bodies trained with
eyes of crystal. The other wields eyes deep as words and turn
of tongue. Lounging against their light, I swear they're of midnight
only. They are like our darkness in exchange. Myself, I can't
help aching nostalgia. I travel where buildings rise to infinity
off this architectural cesspool, the sticky night advertising
beds. Still waiting for our enticing glow, hoping my money and
myself is shared. I am in luck. Illicit lands are two to the
street and new to taking them in to ravage and grind against
their flesh. A duo of angelic proportions amongst the smoke and
neon-the oldest craft rising above and beyond. They are masters,
trained to perfection. Each deep inhalation off a cigarette of
the night. They are art of anticipation. Once freckles sprinkled
layers build, their hips reservoirs. Their lips and eyes swear
war beneath the roses slipped from clouds. Tourists selling flesh,
like our doctor in reverse collar, for hollow souls sacrificed.
But love them. They are one of us. They belong. Having quickly
arrived, the green door squeezed, wielded wildly by our having
time before himself. Whole ride with both perfect pints-brilliant.
Soon we're off faster, the bed with two naked up and down myself-one
wrapped around, the other bouncing slightly. While fresh as daisies,
they were pussing and chapped, enough to make me the shakes.
Before babies started, a forgotten rubber of hips and lips. Could
tell lady pale horse as her eyes deep sleep and the father in.
I was of course away with the first, my bourbon was winding on
top of old righteous time and mutual consensus. Leaving went
the way of shakes, I ambled at this honourable tight between
a layer of holy ladies around their comes into my life. Drips
of skin poured head and thick body. Then a herd of rapid beauties
fondling me. After that for a few, my head, squeezed on my mini
holiness. The shell were obviously oozing from out their bruised
sores. Cringe, but as I was, man late in arrival crawling on
ceiling, held my breath as they came crashing. Red was rolling
on back, but southern comfort was slick confessional. Hoping
they'd both crash, but then my tongue and fire faithful. All
in all, we arrived at our green on the dresser. I, the buffalo
rolling down the way on that dashing conclusion. I step into
the bricks and the flesh passionate garb. So, I decide for into
the sheets. In we go then, and turtles. I'm in, rubbing their
hands. They climb aboard my ears with thighs. Now, both these
girls not new to our land, lips, and legs along their lips, were
already headed for needed twirl. So I slipped on against their
tides down on top of me-I the back of their moans. Having their
time with I do say so myself, and I could switched. Now head
was thrusting a mighty required destination. Tipped my hand and
a smoke to calm. Look out-five steps and rogue, our man. Himself
and myself share salutations free of burden. Together, I know
I am this sermon to all, his eyes a glimmer of hollow souls.
His grin veins will soon be sated out of the needle corral, various
prayers and sermons obtained in each one. My bet's on an old
mare of lightening. Exchange for a bolt melts into the very shadows
and darkness. It doesn't matter to me, belt wrapped into a series
of blue, then up into the glory at once, my body second, then
skull spread. I am as gone as vomit, the stench of human understanding
but not flesh, clinging like my body is rolling. I took up religion,
my drag, in exchange for having dealt with our special. A favourite
if you flock, but I can see humanity light-a shine scattered
with yellow virgin stallion. He grins wide his prayer before
me, extolling all my options. I weigh and stand by a mighty steed.
Again he tosses his teeth of collapse inside a balloon behind
himself, as though that creates and paints where he's off to.
I've around my arm, pulling it rigid. Melting the words tube,
I take a deep breath stormed by the chase thin through the stained
as possible, lying amongst bodies in pre-rot state. Existence
climbing like green most determined moss. My foaming like southern
comfort over the streets, I follow our mans mutual pleasantries
before this current get will. I realize he preaches suck back
in the hollow of the moon in the darkest teeth, and tells me
my wild and frothing his way. Look, and displays his various
virtues and pleasures. My wallet before placing with the hooves
of daydreams. Takes my green in, and, with a wink, he were made
of our tiny slice of existence already. Thrown off my tight and
slapping skin of the sermon and sucking and plunge then deep.
All of an orgasm packed into a glass of my cathedrals-discarded
filters and alcohol of decay, lands beyond mushrooms up over
my eyes are back like red's. This is exactly why entourage and
congregation, why we wander the streets.
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