I don't want to go no where no more.

Above us only sky.
The dirt of the no where
The blinders of the universe.
Take your rug.
Put it across the world.
My fingers are getting very cold.
And kind of tired.



Garrett Johnson.

Dusty Cabinet.

All twisted felt the seasons closing in around.
Warped for the downtown incents.
Just to self destruct at the side of a pine river.
A blue face now a-days.
& a new chest full of fog.
Getting up in a field when you have nothing to own.
Nothing to know.
& No one to call home.
With the only thought of what to do.
Is smile.



Garrett Johnson.

Searching.

Standing on that edge.
You feel so lonely.
Reaching out in that abyss
So roomy
Distracting with pleasure that told me all your news
Good & bad.
Stuck in an Romeo prison.
Now feeling glad that you lived.
Just to pain yourself.
With needles gauntly feeding you.


Garrett Johnson.

Fireplace eyes.

Flower girl in open café.
With exploding yellow dress & cute short hair.
Sees the look on my face.
Smiles & Says nothing.
Standing curious fixing a scratch on the wrist.
I Stand outside trying to make sense.
Filling classical glasses with fog.
Distant but sure to say something.
Spotting an invitation that'll be sure to be groovy.




Garrett Johnson.

Ok.

I left it there.
N I left it here.
**** Lighthouse Bukowski back at work
I left it on the porch.
Like a hoover vacuum.
****** up into a locker at the metro.
But who gives a ****.
Dylan Thomas never checked in on me.
Why would he do it now.
Lost that ******* hoov.
Like a rustling in a box made out of neon foam.
Lived in that tree for years.




Garrett Johnson.

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.