Drabbled permease upon tatters.

Lip bricked.
Eye stabbed.
Flower bucket force.
Trauma to the shoe.
Green paint.
Done with spat face.
                                    Ripped.
                                                  Ran for closure.
****** with.
                       Then after shook the hand.
Cato.
Capo.
3rd fret.
              Be my friend.
                                      Leave me alone.
Don't go.
Just leave.



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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Elevator Overdose.

Treble through the fuckery in the wall.
kind.
& Janised.
Low downed in the lowlands.
And perish in the sweet confines of her sweater.
Scented of vanilla and coffee.
Stabbed with marrow being ripped from the spine.
& spiral up to the keeper's song.



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

Empty and all else.

Falseness starting with an end.
Within relapse.
Within relapse.
Such certainty.
Definition.
And catastrophe.
Return.
When the slide in Athens becomes cyan.
And tired.


Garrett Johnson.

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.

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.

Feelings at the theater.

Take your life.
Take the soap.
Take the cigarettes.
Take regrets.
Take emotions.
Take the lotion.
Take the gun.
Take the pines.
Take the water.
Burn.



Garrett Johnson.

Felt through the turquoise left in bloom.

Specialty repeat of your notebook.
Like sad lips.
Sad chairs.
Maybe... just maybe sad.
Not only blankets covering my head.
Your head.
Perhaps.
Maybe once like on the lawn in Kauai.



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.

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.

For Sara.

You've lost all you've caught.
& what you've got is not your senses.
Not your lights.
Not your couch.
Not your fences.
Written on your face.
Says all is nothing.
& tasteless.
What's it to grace.
& hope.
When your atoms greet the pavement.
From a thousand feet up.




Garrett Johnson.

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.

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.

Frankie Cosmos at 1am.

Maybe more like the old place.
Wouldn't have any.
Make of it.
Staying weary.
Within.
Running out.
Of the kitchen in your skin.
Till you faint.
Talk it more.
Said in utter incomplete.
But stay awake.

Garrett Johnson.

French Caliber.

Rain.
The wind.
& that teal rug.
Thanks Ann.




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.

Love holding soul spirit.
No way out alive.
Terrified.
Only until dawn we can run away.
Hold you in my arms.
Corner of brain to wallow in.
Willows weeping.
Time is what we live in.
As everyday was the last.
The End.
Pictures to haunt for.
7 miles.
To town.
These fields we divide.
Never.
Inside we must Live.
Live.
Beautiful Friend.
Only Friend.
Hold my realm of love.
Kiss it with solace.
Tangled in sheets.
Shy and delicate.
For the order of disorder.
I tell to *******.
Is eroding.
And we’re in the lagoon.
Just Floating.
We become the dwellers of our pleasure.

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.

Glacial Coffee.

No Home.
Hung over Sideways.
Adventure.
All created mutants.
All pipe thoughts.
Blasted into the universe.
All to be alone.
Like the golden record.
Trying to prove drastic reasons for being alive.
Inside.
The being of life.
All by finding out why by reading today’s newspaper, and sipping a cup of glacial coffee.
Meanwhile I’m also in a car going 70.
On the highway to A certain shop in the middle of a forest in Seattle.
Hold on.
I’ve gotten off track.
I’ll be right back.






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.

Goodbye.

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



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.

Greece in muted pink.

Flooded in Haiku and rubble.
The painstakingly, shin.
Filled in ghosts and napkins for yours.
When it rains.
Flowing blanketed surprise, the fiends.
Never.
Over and against certain other pains.
Because it rains.

Garrett Johnson.

Hallow Canvas.

You will have seen it shut.
Traumatized.
Mortified.
In muck.
Realizing it's the only combatant of it's astronaut collection.
The real slow of the slow.
Hired to build a balloon palace in plastic.
Wavering.
Hovering in total silence.
Though it doesn't know any better.
Still.
You cut it's head off.
Taste the innards.
Tastes like cinnamon on a yellow rustic cup.
I think it's going to be ok.
We just need a little hug.


Garrett Johnson.

Hard Rain.

Spheric drops on the glum face of midnight.
Nightly drinks by self.
Self Destructing acidicly.
Dinning.
Dying soldierly.
Strict concentration.
By the tears.
Confused in mirrored shadows.
With a tint of peppermint.
Ease back thy silk collection from face.
Intimate gathered embrace.
Under liquid flow of haze.
Blue in thee.
Eyes in slumber casings.
Alieness mornings in caves.
Tavern moonlight from lamp.
Sideways blankets backwards.
On satin grass of upward walls.
Languid.
Sensitive.
Dreams on clear land.
A lone shelter sits.
Corner dimm’d ***.
Blue salted sands wandered coast.
Turquoise sadness.
Stand on crystal blackness beneath.
Lowest of low.
Valley.
Subatomic chaos.
Within chaos itself.
Ones self to end on a metaphorical sea of clarity.

Haven with eyes closed.

If it was.
Washing dirt.
***** socks.
Tea.
Missing fish.
Say it without.
Pebbles, massacre.
******.
Because I...uh.
Stringy hair.
Forgettable.
Rocking back and forth.
Back and forth.
Dramatic but it fits.

Garrett Johnson.

Headache coffee in an i.v.

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

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.

Hmm and yeah.

False complaint.
****** guitar.
Never where you ought to be.
Next to me & ice.
Melting street.
Frighting.
Temporal, weekend.
Day of the week and cry.
A languid joy.
& it's only, getting.
Better.

Garrett Johnson.

Holly beach crime scene.

In it.
Stopped speaking with words.
Using poems instead.
Like the breeze swaying through the ally to the beach.
Hitting her hair.
Identical.
Like that night in 68.
Where the air cooled on top of the roof.
Where the surfers.
Dopers.
And surf saxers.
Congregated for the haze of a shindig.
And fell into the space and time.
Of love.
Acid.
And continuous sounds of The Doors.



Garrett Johnson.

Wired into a trip.
That was the fatal trip.
Around consciousness
Giving a thought to the hook realities that were lying
For all the people who took acid.
Who buy Peace and Understanding for loss and failure
What took down illusion of a whole life-style.
Create a generation of seekers who understood the Culture.
Desperate assumption tending the end of the tunnel.
The continuous evolution of human emptiness.
The relapse of a civilization under rubble from the world that crashed down around them.
Falling in a well of colored rain.
Charcoal drawings on the well walls.
Floating to the top of the bridge.
The bridge of ash that sunk to the depths of less than want.
The hate of people that kick the **** out of the caves of the structure inside.
Decisions of the inner phantom.
The inner exhibit.
Execution of the alienessness.
Paint the peace with ash leaves.
Then end up in Woody Creek.


Garrett Johnson.

Hunter Thompson Blues.

Corpse.
One in a black room.
Aoxomoxoa.
Plays again.
And again.
The voices.
The.
Words.
Snap out of it man.
Oh.
What is this.



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.

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.

If it weren't for the pillow.

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


Garrett Johnson.

I'll come following you.

The scene obscured by High flyers.
the trains.
the sculking.
the home recordings.
the film.
So roomy.
I can taste the perfume.
leaving in shadow.
left rough.
& in silk.
Acting like we never met.
I still 5 to go.
paid for exclusively.
In drachmae.
& Wheat.
But dance &.
Groove.
So weary.
Like the untested reach.
Of time.
& The never resting beach.




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.

Under the elements.
Scarcely relevant to everything in the bag.
It’s a drag he died.
Not really.
It’s not too bad.
Don’t be sad.
Grab the nonsense.
Make it into a movie.
Cry.
And Cry.
Until you're under the moon.
It makes your room.
Builds you a house.
The house you live in for ten years.
And share moments of isolation.
Let your fears run with you.
Then ****** them.
Clean and swift.
Kills that fit the description of the subscription pill bottle.
Pain.
Hands that throttle the life away.
Don’t mean to go this way.
You only live once.
You lived for eternity.
And never existed.
That very much hurts.
Numb.
Brain dead.
Waste away.
Stay in bed.
Dance in the woods.
Sing in your head.
It’s never too late.
There’s joys to be fed.
Lock your truths and lies away.
Pretend that they’re worth something.
Pretend that you’re worth something.
Pull the covers over your face.
Your Tears don’t belong here.
Wintertime love.
So warm and cozy.
Mosey on down to the general store.
Question those that don’t know the half of it.
Half of what your saying.
Or where you’re going.
Who are you talking to.
There’s nobody there.
Hallucinations.
Discover Nations.
Dictations.
And riddles.
Flashbacks of Nam.
Korea.
Germany.
France.
Japan.
Gettysburg.
Realisations that you don’t fit the Piece.
You keep the peace.
But have wonders.
Wander throughout doubt.
Create something meaningful.
And give it to a friend.
Like Morrison said.
This Is The End.

Inquietude Drachma.

Saturday morning- Repaired by a smile, Found a leg in my cereal, took a walk.
Saturday night- Used a headphone splitter, Starred into the eyes of a spiral, and Died.
Sunday morning- Woke in an infinite haze, visited Saturn on a surf board, and drank some cold lava with the girl across the street.
Sunday night- probably die again, Listen to Pink Floyd, and write this down.
down.
down.


Garrett Johnson.

Spots.
Magazines.
All I understood was that you’re portuguese.
Blasting sand bags on scuba tunnels.
On the rocks purified.
Mermafied.
Terrified.
Outrageous.
Daily dose of turpentine.
Divided by the news.
Reel.
Real.
And unwind.
Time to take your pills.
I don’t want those pills.
Take you codger pills you old retched.
What.
I’m Dead.
I’ll just have a glass of water.
Oh I’m dead too.
Rows.
Of Rosemary.
Above what stood once before.
Below.
We’re getting lower.
Even.
Lower now.
Try to.
Hold on.
Almost at the.
Bottom.
Of.
The.
P.                            Garrett Johnson.

Jim.

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



Garrett Johnson.

John David Washington Ave.

Suspended.
It tastes like violet.
Cloudy.
Renaissance and headed towards.
The Maxine.
Mountain only spitting globes.
Of parted jacket.
Faulty.
Leaving electric glass behind.
Though it's eyes.
No weaving of inner fuchsia.
Collected, only slept in yesterday's clothes.

Garrett Johnson.

Throw jewelry away.
Live in the woods.
Maybe a cabin.
Smoke a cigar every seven days.
Befriend the animals.
Drink moonshine three days a month.
Play the harmonica.
Meet a human in town.
Sing with squirrels.
Make sweaters.
Build a basement.
Hug the trees.
Kiss someone.
Talk to yourself.
Cry on a canoe in the middle of the lake at night.
Listen to Bob Dylan.
Read Poetry By Jim Morrison.
Make arts and craft projects.
Sketch a chair.
Then sit in it.
Play the guitar.
Make a bonfire.
But don’t burn down the trees.
Taste different spices.
Taste other peoples spices.
Sleep on the ground.
Get *****.
Stand out in the rain.
**** your own fears.
Nit blankets.
Save minerals
Smile.
Frown.
Do acid.
Warm up the air.
Shout.
Punch the ground.
Make cereal.
Eat pine cones.
Watch the trees sway.

Sing softly in bed.
Stay in bed.
For you might not see her again.

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.