Al Petroleum.

Fazing in n out.
The flicker.
The whisper.
She's here.
You took too much man.
You took too much.
Who said that.


Garrett Johnson.

Drums of force weeping.

Wooden stresses.
Along the mongers and the cages.
The sea green forgery.
Bagged to the top.
Lynched at the top.
Chained through the lot of others.
Thou the wicked of brothers, sisters and mother's.
Oh the horror.
Of Syd.
Throw it in midair.


Garrett Johnson.

Night.

This night will be the last night of our lives.
Mother, I'm thirsty.
Role call.
Freeze in the heat.
Waiting for your heart to beat out of your chest.
Moving.
Keep moving until you're out of breath.
Millions of bumps.
Cattle car.
Thoughts of JOY on our fresh new start will last us through the night.
Run.
Run.
Until your bones ache in the sun.
Until your brain overloades with fear.
And your shadow no longer appears.
Cry for your brothers, sisters.
Father's, mother's
Lovers and others.
Cry.
Cry.
For your tears have evaporated into the air with the innocent.
Strip.
Down to your skin.
To the flesh your no longer own.
To the body that holds no hope.
Striped garbs, pants, shirt, jacket.
Rations of black coffee, soup and bread.
Work or crematorium.
Welcome to Auschwitz.


Garrett Johnson.

All the way there.

60 down the main road.
Throw it all away.
Tossed in the wind like a bag.
And hovers away like the smoke from a cigarette.
The whole lot of  1,304 miles of bliss.
And find that someone that's groovy enough to groove with you.
All the way there.

Never tneconnI.

Desert lake.
Invisible fallout.
Falling out on a infinite ride of high.
Goodbye new world.
Vast hauntings on the inner globe.
Slow.
Subtle.
Seriousness nowhere to be found.
Sad.
But pleasant.


Garrett Johnson.

Old and Tattered.

Stuck cold.
Like the vicious snot in my throat.
Nestled platoon of dew.
Molding the tunnel.
Configurated Japanese combatants.
Planted in the deepest of the deepest.
Halls.
The twitching of subtle brasses.
Lightly hugged by breeze.
It's nice up here.
Balance in intimacy.
Of such is feared.
Too young of Neil to use such diction to describe such another half.
For only fiction can thread through these lines.
As intimacy is scarce in the lands I walk.
The melody sits sweetly.
Like a whisper.
So clear like a resting lake.
So pure As the calm eyes that appear from the tree line and sing into the soul.
Standing here all alone.
The lingering glow of something that was.
Into something that wasn't.
Or something that never was.
Gentle like the strings "Down by the river".
An acoustic outcast to live for.
Burnout in a sanctum covered pine trees.
Cinnamon water, and blueberries.
Folded cough drop wrappers to be used as cigarettes.
Woolen blankets.
Mirror.
Year long beard.
Three year hair to the shoulders.


Garrett Johnson.

Lithium Leakage.

It crawls.
Has big headphones to hear all the details.
It's monotonous in every way lonely.
It has internal bridges collapsing at all times.
Uses it's vessel in the the 21st century.
But it's soul lives before it's time.
Has all and nothing to live for.


Garrett Johnson.