Drowning like Tuesday.

Stained cold.
Pained & blue.
& blew away in the morn.
The dawn striking Like I a seven day trip to the quiet mountains.
The quiet flowers.
The quiet fountain.
The silver trees.
& The shadow satins.
Melted in a field.
And still.
Kept silent.



Garrett Johnson.

Saw myself as you knew me.

Where.
Do you fit in here.
What.
Do you know about sinking here.
Why.
Did you think I'd think you'd miss me here.
Here at the Pinnacle of here.
& The adolescents of never.



Garrett Johnson.

Opposite loft blues.

I've seen the Maroon.
Moon in your eyes.
When you smiled as you cried.
From the shadow of your boots.
Dying in your labyrinth of mind.
Standing.
Gasping from time wasted.
Slapped granite blankets.
As your rust eyes close
& Your face turns invisible.
Starting with your nose.
Screaming the song.
You would oppose
But then think
Just maybe you were supposed to die.
& Then you did.
You got rid of your pains.
Starring aimlessly.
Through those maroon eyes.



Garrett Johnson.

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.

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.

Coming around.

Sierra.
With a canvas camera bag.
Too small to fit a world into.
n too big to fit a life into.
Carrying death by the pound.
By the scent of the sky.
By the quid in pocket.
N by the vinyl in the eyes.
N all u can ever do is dance.




Garrett Johnson

Magazines and other Accusations.

He spits.
N then you run.
You say hello t the crow.
He hands you a towel.
T wipe the coal away.
Swaying.
He sings.
Your dead.
You’ve read.
Yr sad in yr bed.
But you kick.
N you squirm.
Shouting out that your done.
A turquoise girl appears.
Handing advice out on note cards.
Stuffing them n Your pocket.
You walk away.



Garrett Johnson.

Bob Dylan.

A mystic creature.
Punching out holes in norms.
Eating the questions then vomiting them back up.
Leaving them worn.
Poet minded.
Speaking the real.
And creating anything kicking till it’s sore.




Garrett Johnson.

Steel tremolo.

Rising in an electric fire.
Casted on all sides.
Contiguous.
Spiraling down to agony.
Waiting at the bottom.
It sings in cute melodies and drifts into slumber.



Garrett Johnson.

Alacrity skies.

Sailing slow on tan sands.
Knowing this is nowhere.
But everywhere next to me.
To keep me company.
Parade fires in a phantom night.
Crowned love beating all.
Only act existing.
Guitars.
Drums wailing proudly.
Mountains greeting the stars.
With shelter under swaying pines.
Lasting only for the night.
Only for the night.



Garrett Johnson.

I’m gone.

Cured in an alley.
Forgotten by the walls.
Greeted by neon hands.
Seared into the corners.
The ash dances like whirlwinds.
Meeting every beat to an azure strum.
And a calm kiss under the clear night.



Garrett Johnson.

Earthly blood.

Pushing.
Left inside the crimson.
Ton of
Thorn.
Like the village where we came from.
Green.
Itching.
Dust on the self.
Dust on the shelf where Frida Kahlo stood.
Dust standing dance.
Dust for your health.
And flowers for the some to die.
Just like how I should.




Garrett Johnson.

A complete unknown.

There it goes again.
Dripping.
Sticking to the walls.
The halls floating with tranquility flowing down.
Silver us.
Silver them.
No good.
Trying.
To be anything that isn’t.
Holding worn ***** boots.
Still.
Holding smoke.
Fingers woven.
Never mind.
It’s too late.



Garrett Johnson.

Flying and fine hours.

I see you looking here.
I see the shapes.
The colors.
That primeval smile.
For centuries I’ve seen that dance.
For seconds I felt the chills from that sound of.
Hello.




Garrett Johnson.

****** eyes (the best kind)

Am I the head aches.
Am I the heart racing from the rush.
Am I.
The ****** eyes I received from Kissing her.
Am I.
The ***** that came after the tremolo.
Am I the bullet that almost came.
Am I.
Am I.
So tired.





Garrett Johnson

Goblins and Dandruff.

Torn from cerise faded dress.
Shirt underneath to draw no attraction.
Cuffed and lonely to the eyes from a distance
Entering the room.
Dead and staring to the top of the bottomless roof.
Not surprised.
Just thrown to a lone frigate and escape.
Lone and petrified in azure scapes.
And Left to sulk.




Garrett Johnson.

Carry me through to.

My friend said he was leaving.
So I said goodbye.
My grandfather was told he was leaving.
So I watched Fred Astaire movies with him.
She said she was leaving and asked If I’d go with her.
So...I did.





Garrett Johnson.

Loved over there and here.

Went to the old house, you lied.
Danced all alone, you cried.
Loud and clear.
Tears on back seat.
Pull over.
Tired.
Not much in my life.
Only a drink and this song.
All calmed enough to lie down.




Garrett Johnson.

Planning a ******, Starting a religion.

Slip into the pulp.
Blue denim shirt.
Never bothered me.
Charcoal insecurities.
She was cold.
Deep purple to ease into.
Or dancing to a Smiths record.




Garrett Johnson.

Odium.

Wonders in Asher night.
Oh won’t you come see me Mary Read.
For the Alabaster is polite.
And the drink *****.
No copper of coin and coincidence well played.
Unlike thee.
To not show the softness of tough.
Or show the heather skies color.
And to have no answer for the teal engraved in the eyes.



Garrett Johnson.

Waiting for you.

Dismal marigold.
Hovering at most.
Fear for vehemence.
Sepia perfume.
Palladium rug.
All I wanted was it back.
Salty mush.
Roomy in Autumn auburn.
Hepburn of copper empires.



Garrett Johnson.

Wash the dirt out of my hair.

Fox Academy lowdown.
Stone flannel in the wind.
Killer n a frown.
Hair long on 15th.

Watching the doors in the morning.
Mire more then ever.
over and over tired.
Take sadness for my fever.

There might be a road.
Take off your mask.
I’m scared of every.
Thing that you ask.



Garrett Johnson.

Plum rd.

Viridian seeking.
Head discovered on chest.
Sage lands awakening.
Glimpses in emerald past.
Mirrored in ivy.
Soil for the river.
Heavenly clouded beads.
Around neck.
A soft hold on it all.




Garrett Johnson.

Washington’s finest.

The air of Aberdeen is cathartic and grimy.
The girls of Edmonds are cute.
The world of Seattle is inventive.
The boys of Olympia are alive and tired
The dirt of Gold Bar is ancient with a tang.
The sea of Tacoma is repaired in green.
The tears of Monroe are small.
Evergreen.
Evergreen.
Take me away.


Garrett Johnson

I fell in love with a girl in Canada.

Thanks for the salad at Capilano.
And thanks for knowing who Mac Demarco is.







Garrett Johnson.

Letters to nobody.

Sorry for the mess.
I don’t know how to say.
What to say.
The lavender fields are choking me.
Leaves seeping into me.
Hyacinth canopy.
Rusting couch.
Could’ve said ouch.
Before the lavender.
******* Lavender.
I fathomed her.
Free murderers for rent.
I’ll take one.
I am one.
I killed myself.
Didn’t mean to melt.
Like myself.
Hate myself.
Being someone else.
Myself.
My self.
On the shelf.
Elf for Halloween.
She was.
There.
Here.
Fortney.
Blanket Express.
What a guess.
Sleepy Stress.
Lovely dress.
Live for meh.
Eat some veggies.
Smoke in the tub.
Don’t count on me.
Can’t have fun.
Slippers on feet.
Cartoon drawings.
Don’t go to prom.
Didn’t go to prom.
Didn’t walk.
Just picked it up.
Threw it up.
Didn’t come down.




Garrett Johnson.

Lovely Ruins.

Tossed through ash.
Cold.
Bruised.
Sail to me for conversation.
Not A lover to one.
Not one for another.
Covered by lips.
The old teachings.
Learned to be alone.
Take up enchantments of touch.
Tremolos in the fingers.
Grip on nothing.
All to be nothing but the trees in Fall.



Garrett Johnson.

Leaky.

Grounded in amethyst.
Cold dew.
Pure mossy trees.
Slip unnoticed overgrown.
Love made on earthly floor.
Duplex Doors of the infinity.
Never failing to impress.





Garrett Johnson.

Beginning.

The wounds hold in sultry.
The shaman breathes tightly.
With cerulean colored eyes.
A Luscious handle of the old world.
Tired in admiral skies.
The appearance of truth.
Written in scarlet.
The words that heal in time.




Garrett Johnson.

Mettle.

Mettle in the bohemian.
The magnum opus of self destruction.
Narrowing to the confines.
Mettle in thrownness.
Watching from above in 16mm.
Sliver of flower.
Grown from nothingness.
For nothingness.







Garrett Johnson.

Like a Rolling…

Bukowski status.
A lone roof.
I'm done.
Get down from there.
You're going to die anyway.
Weather you jump or not.
You want a little death.
I want a little death.
Come on, show me.
I wont.
*******! You're wasting my time!.




Garrett Johnson.

Something happening in here.

Slow on a side walk.
Chaos does not slow in the streets.
Protest.
People.
Want to fight or ****.
Love or hate.
Agent orange for a leader.
Neutral is extinct.
The poets have flooded.
To help the old understand.
To help the young awake.



Garrett Johnson.

Rotten Gold.

Maybe.
A new.
Maybe.
An old.
Maybe.
The mystic.
Maybe.
The twisted of scene.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.




Garrett Johnson.

Lustful Regress.

Under.
A wonder of pain.
peacefully insane.
The killer has been welcomed.
Did you let him in
?
?


Garrett Johnson.

Chair heads.

Took what’s needed.
Burn the wolves.
Like all poems have.



Garrett Johnson.

Silent film.

The hounds have come for me.
Jeweled in swamp night air.
Silent immaculate adventures.
The suaver will have his choosing.
Silver in the night.
Cold ***** soft.
Mad chariots seeking for a muse.
I have no place here.
For the great Eleesha will have her day.
Cold with warm ciders and teas.
Pleasantly.
Empty.




Garrett Johnson.

Sanctum.

Salem.
Oh Salem.
Who'd you ****.
Who'd you ****.
Who'd you...
Why'd you go quietly.
Heath could of saved you.
Salem.
Oh Salem.
I held your hand.
I held your.
Hand.
That day in Salem.



Garrett Johnson.

One Riff.

Come down the stairs.
Take off that robe.
Get a chair.
Pull it close.
Whispering hands.
Silvery toast.
The best thing the coast could offer.
Was your hand.
Now.
We sit.
On the swing.
Conjuring.
The only.
Song We sing.



Garrett Johnson.

Song 12.

I'm going to the store.
Pick up some cigs.
Get a Poster of Uma Thurman.
A record by The Smiths.
Morrisey.
Get a milk shake.
you can share it with me.




Garrett Johnson.

Ash flower.

Cold showers.
Warm hands.
Everything gone.
tell the self it’s fine.
When it’s not.
I’m not.
But i’m Ok.
Not the only one.
Raining tar.
Running in noire.
Fun times.



Garrett Johnson