Broke my head stepping on some air.

I knew better.
But I don’t know better.
The sound is always closed off.
But I can hear those thoughts again.
Whispering n screaming.
Then close to a greying calm
Like having a waltzy reaction.
To something good.
Having no place around here.
Leave because I have nothing else to do.
But read and sing in some erratical nervous psychedelia.



Garrett Johnson.

Granite mistakes.

Toasting in a rubber slumber.
Quick to act the marrier.
Sliding to creak upon the sullen trips.
Of all the trips that you’ve seen from.
They care not for you.
Only for the oils in your wrist.
& you say nothing.
& stand barren.
Alone with no one to guide you.
With nowhere to go.
& Nothing to see.




Garrett Johnson.

Breast pocket.

Sorry.
Haven’t written in a while.
Scarf drank some bleach.
He said he was fine.
the glue dried up.
But Sarah said she’d go get some new tarps.
Passed out form singing in a river.
Woke up without any legs.
I walked it off.
Till I remembered we have crimson hats and mittens.
It’s cold here at burning man.
Memphis time is the right time to shoot up.
The wires are crossed.
N the surfing is credible.
n I’m going & got tired half way thru this.
                                 Your son that never knew ya.
                                  Lighthouse Bukowski.




Garrett Johnson.

Jim.

Permanent vacation.
Down by law.
Stranger than paradise.
Night on Earth.
Only lover left alive.



Garrett Johnson.

Transmission teeth.

Down the back loc.
N out the sad top.
Plus one.
& plus two.
Making sad flocks.
Of people.
Screamin’.
& cryin’
And flyin’ about a new world.
One that has fingers in hairdos.
& coffee grounds for *******.
Talking over new vocations.
Guitar strings in heck fire.
Hell fire.
& lava.
Green organs blazing down in ancient rains.



Garrett Johnson.

Saucerful.

The candy lights won’t come back on.
My boots have been swallowed.
The table cloth chess players.
Roped into hallowing out their arms.
It’s ok the blankets don’t know any better.





Garrett Johnson.

Why not stay for a while.

Hey Ma.
It’s me.
Alex put the dishes in the graveyard.
But I didn’t believe her.
She’s been studying for the chair leg test.
But I guess all the best rockin’ chairs come from over here in Laurel
Canyon.
My bud said he got tired of all the mice in Greenwich.
So he bought a whole cage of em.
Syd & Jim took a hike.
They’re looking as thin as ever.
The neon sky Drops packs of cigarettes and water jugs regularly.
So we’re all in tip top shape.
Don’t forget to close your over door.
                         Your last son.
                         G.M



Garrett Johnson.