Saying What Wasn't.

Can't begin to process.
Can't stand upon the shore.
Can't imagine the eyes that contract with your notes.
Or the eyes that make notice of my smile.
Staying a while.. while I figure it out.
While Sophie. The isle.
The conglomerate of strings to my ears that make them bleed.
But what doesn't have and what doesn't make them need.
Of your whisper so slightly.
And I of a minute too soon to love.

Alone, with nowhere wondering

When back in Hawaii, I feel it better with you.
North of the Eggs 'n things where I puked.
The grass could be so darndest. Smiling only to attract the bugs.
Just because & only then...Could you smile.
The leaves smacking air into my lungs or was it the hybrid, that lept with such oomph.
Looking at my shoelace until It's been a while.
Cig running ruin into brain, counting looks at your hand.
& I, without a plan.
Sometimes you spoke.
Of dreams rampant, organs bearable in confusion.
I only wanted to say hello.
Standing on the stern, peering out over harbor.
Getting closer even though You knew.
Through trees, peering into your eyes & much colors that never threw...concern.
Just Closed.
& fine.
As if the the view of you At North shore anew.
Never arrived

Garrett Johnson.

A little, but it helps.

Are we thrilled?.?
Rid of any happiness in hands. Gripping onto eyes much tired, they throw up.
All given in rain soaked ideas.
& pleased to see the cigarettes sitting there in your shirt pocket.
Doesn't mean anything.

Garrett Johnson.

Put them around mine.

Full of fake happiness.
Tea.
Forced poems.
& eyeshadow.
All as the cars go by.
Of the style.
And demise.
Written weary for the try.
Pretty bi.
Because of course.

Garrett Johnson.

Hmm and yeah.

False complaint.
****** guitar.
Never where you ought to be.
Next to me & ice.
Melting street.
Frighting.
Temporal, weekend.
Day of the week and cry.
A languid joy.
& it's only, getting.
Better.

Garrett Johnson.

Porch evening remind.

As if said with flame.
Mr. Tambourine Man and you.
On wavering beach, collapse.
For it's worth while.


Garrett Johnson.

Greece in muted pink.

Flooded in Haiku and rubble.
The painstakingly, shin.
Filled in ghosts and napkins for yours.
When it rains.
Flowing blanketed surprise, the fiends.
Never.
Over and against certain other pains.
Because it rains.

Garrett Johnson.