Poem for something in a different dimension.

Infinite dandruff on the leaf in my soup.
Caught on fire in a concrete water bottle.
Pulling chair.
Woolen eye shut.
The shirt pocket soldiers full of matches.
You say what to the girl.
She says yes.
The coffee club on shoot n up agrees.
Disintegrates into bark.
Stick shoes.
And mossy doors.


Garrett Johnson.

Bouncing light shows.

O.
Ov.
Ove.
Over.
Overd.
Overdr.
Overdri.
Overdriv.
Overd­rive.
Yes.
A little Interstellar Overdrive.



Garrett Johnson

Syd.

At the lips.
Take a down to Kings Road.
At the left.
Take a left at Kings Road then take another left.
At the sign take a right down to Kings Road.
Just to end up where you started.
At the lips.



Garrett t Johnson.

Turquoise hadphone splitter.

Turned and looked at me.
Said that the end was good.
Turned and looked out the window.
Rumble like The Velvet Underground then head against my shoulder.
She must of really liked the end of that song.


Garrett Johnson.

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.