For you.

You take off your ghostly dress.
You sell it to the baker who's new.
You look forth, back and around me.
Even As I stand next to you.
You're in slumber on the rug in the lobby.
You're coffee lips they seem down.
But I can see your intentions.
Even with your head to the ground.
So there you stand in the corner of the room.
With blanketed sound.
Of rain and Falling neon.
As you remember to turn around.
Here you are walking to me
Placing your ether hand.
To the place.
You wish a kiss will land.


Garrett Johnson.

Only but the road.

With the soda sauce.
Embrace at the space needle.
And playing Neil Young on the corner.
She gets it all.
& owes none.
High parked at a stop off in Gold Bar.
Sleep in the back.
So close.
A gypsy nightmare is just a dream.
Wake to an acoustic cry.
Subtlety in early air.
We slow dance to sounds of Donovan.
And feel the feel that felt it all.



Garrett Johnson

Wellness.

None at all.







Garrett Johnson

Ode to the most of it all.

Painted
Nation in white.
Rushing to and from the veins of agony.
Rash and amounted with seas of coursed grain.
& fog streamed from the consience waves of thought.
And Affection.


Garrett Johnson.

For Awkward insight.

Why are you standing there?
Well I thought I'd show you my record collection.
Oh, cool.
Do you like... um The Beach Boys?
Yeah.
Do you like... Grateful Dead.
Mm Yeah.
Do you like Dylan or Jefferson Airplane?
Yeah, sure.
.
.
******, man!
You did again.
You took too much!
You took too much.


Garrett Johnson

Time again.

Soft and mad.
Left Fields barren remaining without a soul.
Later rehydrated with life.
Cleansed for the bossom of the soil.
Begain.
Only.
To be ended.
Intime for the hard rain to fall.



Garrett Johnson.

Fragments of Infinity.

Dabbled in the hill dwellings.
Parades of ******.
Spoons of believe to be.
Sands of purple saturation.
                                                Gone.
Stranded frozen in Greenwich street.
                                                                 Always.
Felt lively.
From grace of lips.
Only wondered.
& pure.
With the revamped spiral of life.
Given memory to moments of intimacy.
Sanctum.
Caught in form.
Of sameness.
And oblivion.




Garrett Johnson.