Neon Sigma.

Paul Newman took my cool hand.
He said he would double discount down on everything that’s bought Man.







Garrett Johnson.

Oct 15, 66.

One of those nights.
Where the air is slick.
Where everything can be heard from miles away.
Like a tremolo stealthing it’s way around.
From every knock from door.
From every word from lip.
Form every star deciding to die in a super nova.
You know.
Those nights.
Sure I do.
No.
No you don’t.



Garrett Johnson.

7:30.

Foggy portal.
Frozen air.
Swamp carrier.
Solid cinder.
Sleet table.
Holed wall.
Red tomb.
All for nothing.



Garrett Johnson.

Quiet air disintegration.

The clay boy of a first responder.
Pondering along on a long night.
She’s cool in a dolly rocker.
Jeweled blue.
And silent white.




Garrett Johnson.

Don’t suspect a thing bud.

Grandma has the soup.
Grandma has the cigarettes.
Grandma has the guns in the shed.
Why the hell would you think that.


Garrett Johnson.

Hallow Canvas.

You will have seen it shut.
Traumatized.
Mortified.
In muck.
Realizing it's the only combatant of it's astronaut collection.
The real slow of the slow.
Hired to build a balloon palace in plastic.
Wavering.
Hovering in total silence.
Though it doesn't know any better.
Still.
You cut it's head off.
Taste the innards.
Tastes like cinnamon on a yellow rustic cup.
I think it's going to be ok.
We just need a little hug.


Garrett Johnson.

Breeze so lovely.

The chair.
The wall.
The air.
The floor.
Despair.
Nothing more.
The blankets.
The soreness.
The aches.
The blankness.
The wants.
The needs.
Flowers and weeds.
But ******* the breeze is so lovely



Garrett Johnson.