Akira forest combined.

Voice.
Boxes, orange.
For subtle change in blush.
Nothing.
Really. . . chilling Michael.
Pineapple and say hello.
Yellow on the shirt.
Napkin brain.
Right em down.
Defective poems and it's all fine.
It's all fine.
I'm sure.


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.

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.

Sitting as the picture melts.

Conversation.
Erasing.
Mindful.
Stairway standing shallow.
Head full.
Of stranding speech that floods through the lips.
Careless.
Does it feel well.
Walk to the sink.
Lavender still though the stomach pain.


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.

Maroon Dysfunction.

The wall orbs in seconds.
While I dwell n loath.
Chew through blood curdled at the scene.
Pooled in awakening lithium.
Only to match the curve of the tremolo.
False.
But defined.
through friction.
& breasted shadows.
So shown.


Garrett Johnson.

Evening Motion Sickness

Twas for the river that I think of you.
About that agony smile.
The denim closing stars following as we walk to "Fourth time Around".
Those grey soaked fingers.
The curls of brown blanketed.
The easy clouded stride.
That soft sight peaking back like film.
The grasp in grasp.
That defying glide from the lips.
The silent dance from the waist.
So wicked.
The further air.
The fruitful chaos.
And the watery time known before decay.



Garrett Johnson.

Won't be back till later on.

I'm gone for the long road.
To nowhere.
That's somewhere.
With her that has something.
& her that has nothing at all.


Garrett Johnson

That time we walked around for no reason.

Talking.
Outer.
Wooden door.
Brain rush.
Molecule.
Closing eyes.
What's her name.
**** I forgot her name.


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.

Lithium Leakage.

It crawls.
Has big headphones to hear all the details.
It's monotonous in every way lonely.
It has internal bridges collapsing at all times.
Uses it's vessel in the the 21st century.
But it's soul lives before it's time.
Has all and nothing to live for.


Garrett Johnson.

Conversation with some guy.

Have you ever killed anyone.
****, man we're going there already.
Well have you.
Yeah.
Who.
Charlie; in the war, had to **** him with my camera.
Oh, you were a war photographer.
Photographer, journalist, I've been a lot of things.
Are you part of the pine tree communist propaganda team.
Woe man, slow down.
Did you or did you not, meet with the monk of monkies in Massachusetts.
Hey man, your questions are a little too high caliber for my surf board.
I'm just trying to break some new ground here...well, what do you like to do.
Oh you know the casual acid flashbacks, Godzilla showings at the theater, um hanging out with some Samurai Chicks ya know, stuff like that.
Have you ever been to the mountains Mr._ ?
Well there was this one time when I was at this festival in Colorado, and this guy said he was going to hitchhike up to Woody Creek and he asked if any body wanted to join him, so I tagged along, he said his name was Chuck I think, yeah Chuck Manson, he went on about wanting to **** somebody but I didn't really think about it, he did play some music which was really good, it was very soulful.
(A heavy sigh)Can you recall where you were a few hours ago.
I was here.
What do mean you were here.
I've always been here, constructing this reality that you're sitting in right now.
(End Tape)
Goodbye.



Garrett Johnson.

Angular relapse.

Like a tongue on a hot pipe.
Gets blistered.
Boils in the star in the sky.
And pops.
Pus.
Picking up even the stongest bones crunching.
The whimper.
The moonlight.
The **** in the head that fries.
Pretend to even act.
Like the little voice beating between the ears.
Meaning nothing and everything.
For everyone and Nobody.
But stills crawls.
Back into an acidic center.
Home that could never be home
And flushed into. . . What be formed into silent ends.


Garrett Johnson.

Jim.

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



Garrett Johnson.

Old and Tattered.

Stuck cold.
Like the vicious snot in my throat.
Nestled platoon of dew.
Molding the tunnel.
Configurated Japanese combatants.
Planted in the deepest of the deepest.
Halls.
The twitching of subtle brasses.
Lightly hugged by breeze.
It's nice up here.
Balance in intimacy.
Of such is feared.
Too young of Neil to use such diction to describe such another half.
For only fiction can thread through these lines.
As intimacy is scarce in the lands I walk.
The melody sits sweetly.
Like a whisper.
So clear like a resting lake.
So pure As the calm eyes that appear from the tree line and sing into the soul.
Standing here all alone.
The lingering glow of something that was.
Into something that wasn't.
Or something that never was.
Gentle like the strings "Down by the river".
An acoustic outcast to live for.
Burnout in a sanctum covered pine trees.
Cinnamon water, and blueberries.
Folded cough drop wrappers to be used as cigarettes.
Woolen blankets.
Mirror.
Year long beard.
Three year hair to the shoulders.


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

A little, but it helps.

Are we thrilled?.?
Rid of any happiness in hands. Gripping onto eyes much tired, they throw up.
All given in rain soaked ideas.
& pleased to see the cigarettes sitting there in your shirt pocket.
Doesn't mean anything.

Garrett Johnson.

Sock lost forever.

Having no words.
Laying down.
Decent.
Scattered.
In absurdness.
The best way.
Leaning over.
Sleep after.
Canadian jade.
Suspense.
With everything else to say.


Garrett Johnson.

I die each time.

Rug floor.
Her Eyes.
Cosmic.
But homemade.
Satin.
& lived in.
I heard the sound.
Whispered.
Sent for.
Invitations.
For the heads.
& Sick.
With grief from the lips.



Garrett Johnson.

Ode to the road.

See you and your rivered mind.
Sought out in cyan.
And cry for the drift in your eye.
Made for.
The groove.
The tremolo in your pace.
Rose hue to your face.
And the sea to your shirt.
The one you got in Olympia.



Garrett Johnson.

Ode to the hand that's held.

Leaf blower suicide.
German going in & out.
The precious things.
Lay on back.
Looking up.
Doing only what is known.
Wondering what isn't.
Going side to side.
Talking.
Talking.
Talk the ride home.
We only went to Wyoming.



Garrett Johnson.

When you know what to do but don't know how to do it.

Paris.
Springtime
Ultimate.
Suicide.
Seating.
Pinecone.
Eyes for the best.
Hallow.
And.
Saturated.
1966.
Going to the outskirts.
Looked.
Upon the fresh.
New bodies.
All over.
And opened.
Into.
The.
Dawning.
Of her
Only.
And.
Left alone.


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

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.

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.

Writing song titles on your hand.

Misery.
Oooh.
Where'd it go.
Right near.
Near your eyes.
Shoelace.
Downer.
And done with.
Because we all know why.


Garrett Johnson.

Begin, become when you take a left.

Feel that's right.
Therapy.
Say that you're alright.
That it's the kind.
Of see through.
Of assuring.
The peace.
Within each other.
Unreal the nervousness.
Crossing legs.
Holding still.
You know.
Filling weariness in the snow.
As it was under that street light.


Garrett Johnson.

1:40.

Pulp Fic poster.
Dylan.
Lennon.
Cobain.
Green sticks.
Some smiths.
Hendrix.
Fear and Loathing.
Morrison.
Dig yourself.
A black lagoon.




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.

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.

If it weren't for the pillow.

Unspoken.
Anna.
Total.
Moon gum.
Headache.
Afraid.
Toothpick.
Pick your nails.


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.

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.

Laying under circumstance.

Certainty waving back in ink.
A tar.
Why do it later.
How about now.
Au revoir.
Within Mantles of.
Pristine composure over Thought of the drag of thought.
Only a little ill.


Garrett Johnson.

Ode to her flannel shirt.

The dark horse screams.
The water mimics me.
The sunlight keeps us clean.
The night time keeps us lean
For what.
Inside of me?



Garrett Johnson.

Never bein who I wanna.

See thru.
neck kiss.
car hood.
lost a thing.
Don't belong.
don't believe.
all wrong.
have to leave.
don't.
.
Stay.



Garrett Johnson.

No sign to stay.
In her brain.
I’ll stand on the chance with nothing to say.
Stand in the blue.
Slow with care.
Shallow.
Intimate.
Light tremallo.
Waves to ease in.
Never monotonous.
Always Grimm.
And sullen.
With embers and trauma.
Cast out into a French corner store.
Where she had stood.
Selling paintings.
Coffee.
Basket house.
Cafe.
Such a muse she was.
At night.
Abandonments.
Outcasts.
Displacements.
Said their words.
Crying inside.
Healing wounds.
Her turn.
And that smile gave me everything to know.

A little grey.

Why.
Don't shut it out.
If feels of eternity.
Again n again.
The grooves.
From the hips.
Left still.
In vigorous thought.
Around the eyes.
Around it all.


Garrett Johnson.

Headache in Como.

Precious.
Exercise.
Caution.
Maybe.
Forward with a thought.
Striking.
May I take it.
And Leave me.
Frown only cause It feels.
Like draped Curtain of Earthly Curls so vast in front of face.
Keeps me going.

Garrett Johnson.

Naturally walked.

Even the alacrity in the spots.
Stars the undoing of nervous endeavors.
And pines made of thought thrown asunder.
The globes.
Softly speaking.
And smile fragile.
Then gone.
The spiral orb.
She waits.
In arms.
Tended to in black.
Asked in gloom.
Pillaging mind wasting.
And rest.
In a frantic sooth.


Garrett Johnson

Crashing on the couch.

You'll find your end.
In the river.
You'll find your end.
In the mountains.
You'll find your end.
In the mirror.
You'll find your end.
Living in your doubt.
Find it.
Now.


Garrett Johnson.

Headache coffee in an i.v.

Light switch.
Wool.
Porch.
Sat so nicely.
Shirt.
Say it low.
Young.
And so ancient.

Endeavors of the night.

3 in mourn.
Queen Jane Approximately.
65 Dylan getting the better of me.
The steam’s a little wired.
Letting all of it in.
Room at the Morrison.
And a drink of apple sauce medicine.
Good enough.
Terrible.
Never better.


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

Ode to Penelope.

Silence.
Sweet in symphony.
For she.
The carrier of infinity.
Bound in saddened halls.
& Sheltered in my arms for intimacy.



Garrett Johnson.

Ginsberg Goggles.

Time that was Nice- Drive to Aberdeen, wander around, Look around, Run off from the group with you into the woods while it's raining, cause it's always raining.
Time that was pretty nice- Buy a drug dealer, erode a line into my arm, just to feel something, Cry some dust, then smoke it.
Time that was kind of wasted- Build a lonesome town, Ricky nelson can be mayor, burn scenery into my back using movie ink that was drained out of a camera that a shadow used.
Time that wasn't wasted at all- Staring at your Spider-Man poster, just to turn and see you kiss me.
Time that was enjoyed wasted but wasn't really wasted- writing this.



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.

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.

To the sidewalk at Night

Cranberry to the house.
It's not right.
I feel old.
Like the rust of speech.
Like 3 degrees off and a letter from Jack.
Takes all 2 seconds to get used to it.
The nearness of you.
And the walk back home.


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.