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.

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.

A cup of such and such.

Mental explode.
Through candle light sufferance.
A tremolo remembrance.
Gentle across the face.
Drowsy.
A sigh.
Though in hue so perfect.


Garrett Johnson.

Process in weariness.

Peanut butter and jelly.
Ice and drool.
Duck tape my eyes.
Alex, yeah she's cool.
Always alone like Constantine.
Ol Johnny boy.
I think I'm gone.
And very annoyed
I didn't think I would leave.
I didn't think so.
I didn't know how to complete.
My rowing team...Oh.


Garrett Johnson.

Sad boy Eric.

Cloaked in sap.
Maple scent of her lips.
Fall asleep.
A cretaceous machine.
Spiral down into the unforgettable.
A nostalgic depression.
Felt before.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Forever float in the entertaining undesirable.
While holding hands.



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.

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.

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.

Talking freely.

Please.
Talk to me.
I need that thought of.
Uh.
Nevermind.


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.

Paper rats in the walls.

& Like the life previous.
I sense them once more.
Clawing at the inside of my brain.
Turning.
Everything.
But the floor.
They wine in cancerous heat upon my door.
& Leave my wall into a galaxy of a corpse.



Garrett Johnson.

Oh does she.

Last step.
Shirt caught.
But she doesn't care.
Boots.
Through mud.
But she doesn't care.
Eyeshadow.
Looks up and down.
But she doesn't care.
Hair.
Blue.
And.
Brown.
But she doesn't care.
Sweater rip.
I help.
But she doesn't care.
But then she cares.


Garrett Johnson

Spotted Dust.

Side walk mistress.
To the curb.
Bile be the word for low and.
No high to leave with.




Garrett Johnson

Stalagmite eyes.

The dust filled palm trees.
In Fire as written.
The execution.
Their face.
Always well hidden.
Behind blooded mirrors.
And windows.
They have lost their head in the fire.
Alive.
Alive.
Alive.
A life well used.
Cemented in pine.
Lay on rug sinking in.
Never close.
Never intimate.
But always alive.


Garrett Johnson.

Don’t suspect a thing bud.

Grandma has the soup.
Grandma has the cigarettes.
Grandma has the guns in the shed.
Why the hell would you think that.


Garrett Johnson.

7:30.

Foggy portal.
Frozen air.
Swamp carrier.
Solid cinder.
Sleet table.
Holed wall.
Red tomb.
All for nothing.



Garrett Johnson.

Lustful Regress.

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


Garrett Johnson.

Something.

The qualling moldwarp seeps.
Crude and distinguished.
Outcasted.
For and lived full.
Of rot in the crimson wave.
Veined
And insecure.
No high or lowering end.
No result in castled eyes.
Or mothered neutrons of the sick.
Sick.
So.
So.
Sick.
Too sick to rest.
Been gone and too many killed by thought.
By the drowning of the subliminal courage.
By the spinal departure in the sands.
And without welcoming of the azure.
Footprinted only to be pulled into red.
And entombed into onyx.
Never to receive the final wail of grief.


Garrett Johnson.

The Fall.

Trees out my window.
So barren and chipper.
As if I could almost taste the death.
Taste their eyes on my person.
Their wraithing edges.
Their aging systems welcoming like *****.
Splatters.
Across all fronts.
To conjure the oh so sweet milk of air.
The dusty platitude of forgiveness.
Sight the faces so smug.
So lucrative.
So tiny.
As the weaving sits bined.
And the yellowness unwindes.
Trees out my window stand gladly.


Garrett Johnson.

Syd.

At the lips.
Take a down to Kings Road.
At the left.
Take a left at Kings Road then take another left.
At the sign take a right down to Kings Road.
Just to end up where you started.
At the lips.



Garrett t Johnson.

Said to be said.

Grime slapped into verses.
Grabbed by infinity.
A lonely grasp.
Swollen faced security.
To self destruction.
Meadowed in suicide seating.
Think of her often.
To leave and ride eternity.



Garrett Johnson.

Emaciated Dawn.

Surged in the ecstasy.
Catacombs she asked.
I don't know where I'm going.
Where's going being gone without
Taken.
Towards the other side.
Broken on through with leisure leaving trails.
And with the lover asking picture.
Moving languid.
Under the shirt.



Garrett Johnson

Perpetual Evening.

Car door.
Street light.
Your Lips.
Never felt better.



GarretT JohnsoN

Bowl of cereal recipes.

Frankly disturbing.
Teal corner ****** for peace.
Lady has the almond lock.
Swinging with Seattle blobs.

Blue breeze water vitamins.
Sings the scarecrow respite.
The proctor's and doctors went sailing.
Peeling off in ghost tar.
Kissed her acid lips.

Rain down in Creek of flower sauce.
Effecting moon riffs.
Nicely cooked accustic stocks.
Lay out on pool table.
Hug.

Shinny light bulb eye.
Caressing stretching zero water line.
Rubber backwoods chair.
Staging a string serpent drug haze.
And all staggered over paper crime.

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.

One.

Dead.
It stands.
Illustrated
For nothing.
Too nothing.
In the isle.
Of Loath.
And weeping to the ecstasy.
That shown once before.
The crystal eyed.
Slept none.
Cabin soft.
Escape.
Playing mindful.
Collage of inner chaos.
Volume languid.
Unreal.
Illusion
It thinks to an eroding tone.
And still present when it leaves.


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.

Next time.
Next Moment.
Next....
Neverminding of ancient words.
Had a love.
Lost a love.
But was it real though?
The long way to the point.
But still not Adequate.
Still have air in my infinite lungs.
But I still wouldn't have it any other way.
Do we feel this way, just to stay the same?
Do we look back to collections of love, in awe, or is it still the same?
Do we make our name?
A-wondering if I could pull back to those moments.

Garrett Johnson.

For leaving me waiting in this chair that only has a lifetime of experience.
And only a thousand secrets to keep.
To keep those waiting.
Waiting to be existing.
Thanks for that.
I’ll let my friend know that he made a friend.
And that he made a mistake on mistakes that made him mistake me for fool.
Well I am a fool.
I’m a fool for waitin’ for you.
I’m a fool for waitin’ On me waitin’ for you.
I’m a little bit tired.
I’m a little woozy from all the waiting for these drugs to kick in.
Ask me a question.
I’ll give you the names of all my excuses for not wanting to wait for you.
Not wanting to wait for me to wait for you.
Not wanting to take this here paper corner and stab my eye ball for waiting for you.
Don’t know if I mentioned this.
But I’m a little bit tired.
Tired of arguing with myself.
Yelling.
Fighting.
Screaming at myself for Not wanting to talk.
But who wants to listen.
The only people that want to listen are the folks that are tired of listening to themselves.
Well.
I guess that some of the folks  that want listen.
Actually do want to listen.
Want to hear something new for a change.
Want to take a break from all the breaks that they already have taken.
Something like that I guess.
I’m gonna get me a new me.
And I’m gonna use him.


Garrett Johnson.

Drums of force weeping.

Wooden stresses.
Along the mongers and the cages.
The sea green forgery.
Bagged to the top.
Lynched at the top.
Chained through the lot of others.
Thou the wicked of brothers, sisters and mother's.
Oh the horror.
Of Syd.
Throw it in midair.


Garrett Johnson.

Goodbye.

Fall.
Sidewalk.
Streetlamp.
Hands held.
Old leaves.
New sounds.
I fell.
In.
Those eyes.
Those eyes.
Those eyes.



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.

Funeral pyre canopy.

Green be thee eyes looking inward.
As the soft speaks.
I look.
I stare.
Touching not.
But cool air.
I wander.
Mindlessly in fields.
I see the eyes that ponder.
Upon me that feel.
& search for no longer nothing.
For it is now real.




Garrett Johnson.

World.

The Door.
Awakens in the heat.
Of angst.
Discourage.
Rebellion.
High flying.
And uncontrollable control.
The Archimedes of Ignorance.
And the Diogenes of change.



Garrett Johnson.

He stood watching.
From his cool wooden porch.
Groovy as it seemed.
He pays not attention to the half naked girl besides him.
He's quiet.
He lights a smoke.
Blinks his eyes.
He's petrified.
Blinks again.
Looks to the girl.
Gives a light kiss upon her cheek.
He leaves.
Still groovy it seems.
Groovy it is.
Out here.
The beings are calm with ease.
Nothing perfect.
Never perfect.
Nothing, and all to hide.
The fabulous ecstasy glides.
He reaches the beach.
He's stopped.
At the edge he looks down.
reflection inside retrospection.
Inside reflection inside reflection.
Inside reflected reflection.
I would consider that an echo chamber with no sound.
He digs.
He lights a smoke.
Then walks.
I need a new friend.
A shindig around the corner.
Everyone there.
So is the girl.
Break on through she says.
Jeweled lights.
Cloth, and beads.
Waving.
Crying.
Hair hovering.
Feathers.
hands locking.
Rivering through the brain.
Everybody knows yer name.
He's the one to send flowers to all around.
He's you.
Me.
I.
Him.
He lights another smoke, and walks.

Garrett Johnson

Never tneconnI.

Desert lake.
Invisible fallout.
Falling out on a infinite ride of high.
Goodbye new world.
Vast hauntings on the inner globe.
Slow.
Subtle.
Seriousness nowhere to be found.
Sad.
But pleasant.


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.

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.

Kerouac Drive.

Sin what he asked for.
Said his head was broken.
Only baptized needle in his vein.
Started seeing stars lit.
Only when closed.
Saw the nebula.
Rusted with violet.
Saw his love.
Open.
Saw nothing.
In nothing.
Gone.


Garrett Johnson.

Turquoise hadphone splitter.

Turned and looked at me.
Said that the end was good.
Turned and looked out the window.
Rumble like The Velvet Underground then head against my shoulder.
She must of really liked the end of that song.


Garrett Johnson.

Once again

I fell into those eyes,
Once again.




Garrett Johnson.

A complete unknown.

Going down 120th in one of the classics.
Passing a ******* barrel on this slighted Sunday afternoon.
With a tub of acid heating up on the dash.
Dylan's "Like a rolling Stone" playing loud and Ruthless.
A mind filled with a heavy buzz.
No lying.
No harm or ill flying around.
Only the road.
Defying all the unknown that's abound.


Garrett Johnson.

But the sound.

Left stood red on the curb.
He sits.
Reading his epitaphs and choice.
Leeching to his lead.
Pocketed mind inside his fine teeth.
Friends free loading on the 2 cent couch.
Bass played Stuntman Randy.
So the Grooves get the gist.
Guthrie preaching Cosmourn poems.
They feel the nail black.
Lagooned in haled land.
Black eyed and far away from gentle.
Coppered Pirates Poets loving.
Battered.
Laughs the words forming.
Cause back on the streets they are once again.


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.

Dream of all time.

Immaculate in the early hours.
The roads.
Lit with death.
Heavenly soft.
Lips.
On cheek.
Regretless.
Low eyes in the slow air.
Oh how lovely the sky.
Misty.
With all the love to show for it.



Garrett Johnson

A Neon Paris.

Here they come.
Here they are.
Again.
Those thoughts.
Worming themselves into the forefront.
Nesseling in the cold.
Black.
Corners of my brain.
Why won’t it stop.
Why can’t they learn to stop.
Like stranded in a sand sea.
They search.
Search.
Search.
And keep searching.
For what.
Some one.
Some place.
SOme taste, or color.
Some feeling.
Lost.
Some thing.
Anything.




Garrett Johnson.

Chair heads.

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



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.

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.