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

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.

Orange Victoria.

Before friday- ate some thorn pizza, smoke, watched some Doc Who.
Friday- battled with an unconscious ghost, hosted a party for most of my guests, one person came.
Yesterday- walked to the store, stepped in hot tar, got blisters under my fingernails.
Last night- soaked my blisters in psilocybin, saw Jim Morrison.
The morning after- woke up at 7, played on the guitar, had a smoke, had another smoke, watched the X-files.
Today’s evening- Stood in the same place for a while, I’m still here somehow, smoke, dishwasher, Lost my real leg in a fire.
Tomorrow- wrote all about it.
.
.
Well I guess I’m doing fine.






Garrett Johnson.

Overbite.

Done with.
Waiting to pass.
Lay with me.
Scared.
Afraid to ask.
The infinite length.
Cut.
Stop.
Roll credits.
The endless want, to ask.
Her.
Statement after statement.
After Statement.
Afterthought.
An afterthought situation.
Circling vibrations.
Down on acid trips through the air.
Walking through the north country fair.
The tooth finder.
Truthfinder.
Shriveled.
We’re almost there.
Only perspective.
She has my attention.
She always had my attention.
Let these words rest.
They’re running on fumes.
And old oil lamps.
Walking down alley in.
Seattle.
A lake appears.
The open of a realm has neared.
On the corner of dazed and confused.
Bohemia.
Girls with wavy shirts and sweaters.
Cloth tribs.
Peace with each other and themselves.
****.
I’m alone once more.
All day.
The in and outs.
The come and goers.
Nothing new.
Puzzle pieces.
Beaded necklaces.
Pine tea.
Chopped wood.
All alone with my cigarette for company.


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.

Perpetual Evening.

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



GarretT JohnsoN

Photo of a street in the Mountains and thanks.

Maybe last.
In anxiety... purpose.
Pending in leaves made.
From you.


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.

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.

Poem for something in a different dimension.

Infinite dandruff on the leaf in my soup.
Caught on fire in a concrete water bottle.
Pulling chair.
Woolen eye shut.
The shirt pocket soldiers full of matches.
You say what to the girl.
She says yes.
The coffee club on shoot n up agrees.
Disintegrates into bark.
Stick shoes.
And mossy doors.


Garrett Johnson.

Point of no return.

He had caught my eye with absurdity.
Carrying a coagulation of Red Apple, Marlboro, Capri, and Dunhill cigarettes.
All in one pack tucked up under his arm sleeve.
Like some ancient greaser lost from his own time.
Stuck fumbling with the fast paced problems of modern day reality.
Confused with utmost certainty that he had lost his way.
And found himself in this new era.
Error to his own brain cells.
Firing on all cylinders.
Trying to keep him awake.
Just to reach help by the time the sun went down.
But he had caught something else in his view.
A girl.
With a yellow and white striped shirt.
Tucked in to her pants that were up to her waist.
A medium sized pocket above her left breast where she kept her cigarettes.
All white converse with white socks.
Slightly curled mid neck length hair.
She carries herself with uncertainty.
But also with grace and passion.
She sees into him as if he is ghostly.
For he is ghostly.
Only a shimmer of a past presents.
That onced lived in a state of mind that had purpose.

Garrett Johnson.

Polite shadows.

Rocket fuel.
Hello.
I’m ok.
Not really.
But that’s fine.
Not important.
Too important.
Waste away.
Never wasted.
Arm rest.
Too tired.
And a big ******* montage of heck fire.



Garrett Johnson.

Porch evening remind.

As if said with flame.
Mr. Tambourine Man and you.
On wavering beach, collapse.
For it's worth while.


Garrett Johnson.

Poseidon.

Yesterday- Blow out, kicked around, drink of water.
Day before yesterday- Hash browns, peyote, get your own tots monday.
Today- Ambien, gold fish, ******* off of Elvis Presley plate dish, it was jeweled.
Tomorrow- A Cobain chill out, hang out, take a walk, Smoke Kerouac plasma.
Day after tomorrow- Live a little, Make love in a field, because why not.
The day after that day that was tomorrow- a smoke, Chai tea, mellow out, Then lots of lsd but not too much.
Forever- write, write about this, write about that, and write some more.
Repeat.
Don’t repeat.
Yeah sure...go ahead and repeat.






Garrett JOhnson.

Prescription Vinyl Side Affects.

Early morning- Stared too long at myself...in the dark, Drank a glass of what could have been, Watched Fife adventures while painting silhouettes.
Later morning- Started doing mescaline serious.
Evening- Read a book subconsciously, Buried the book outback near the shed, Watched Inherent Vice 7 times in a row, the book was Inherent Vice.
Early night- Drank lots of water, with lemon, drank tea for the cool down.
Late night- Cough drop for the cough, Wrote this, And This, and especially this.




Garrrrett 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.

Put them around mine.

Full of fake happiness.
Tea.
Forced poems.
& eyeshadow.
All as the cars go by.
Of the style.
And demise.
Written weary for the try.
Pretty bi.
Because of course.

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.

Raising hell on the inside.

Languid surfing waves in village company.
Sifting.
Locks on intimate encounters.
Terrified.
Stupefied.
As if she said everything just to make me happy.
I couldn’t be.
Not really.
I didn’t speak.
Only stare at the curves of her lips.
Leaving myself to come up with all the details.
In my mind to conjure the cure to my own loneliness.
Or wander aimlessly.
All along the streets.
Gutters of city outskirts.
Town air clears the lungs.
Despair around every corner.
Lurking like the creature from the black lagoon.
I’m Travis Bickle in my world of all things.
Lonely.
I’ve given up all my possessions.
I’ve moved into run down van that has one headlight.
Half a bumper.
And great steering.
I’ve thrown out all my furniture and have ****** in the street along with all the other materialistic things in my life.
I can’t stand waking up in the morning and seeing myself loath in my troubles.
I can ******* own stress come pouring out of the pores of my ******* skin.
But it all reminds me of the true reminder of my future.
THAT I’M GOING TO die.

Garrett Johnson

Rapid Infarction.

What was.
Became through the showering sound of.
Why.
Screamed into oblivion.
The rush.
Stabbed through the psychedelic spiral.
& vomited upon from the mahogany floor.
Crashed and wedded in embrace.
Held by wind from the creak.
The silence.
The intamacy.
Only to be welded into nothing.
But the field of reeds to keep company.



Garrett Johnson.

Regarding Suzi but it's cold.

Pulsatilla to help.
Distant from.
Persistent smoke pouring.
Photo of boredom.
Soho and never.
Ending because I feel like I'm gonna throw up this neon peering through the hair, the shakes.
**** it's cold.



Garrett Johnson.

Remembered best.

Conspired in listful site.
Lay upon frozen forgoing lake.
Seize in the night.
For embrace of lips of world.
Intertwined.
Only imagined.
In the mist blue grasping through.
The pines.
Glisten of eyes.
Mirrored in soft pyro
She lay.
Wrapped.
In nothing but amethyst wools.
Playing the 6 string.
She sleeps to the tune.
In easiness of the early brake of new.


Garrett Johnson

Rotten Gold.

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




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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Saying What Wasn't.

Can't begin to process.
Can't stand upon the shore.
Can't imagine the eyes that contract with your notes.
Or the eyes that make notice of my smile.
Staying a while.. while I figure it out.
While Sophie. The isle.
The conglomerate of strings to my ears that make them bleed.
But what doesn't have and what doesn't make them need.
Of your whisper so slightly.
And I of a minute too soon to love.

Scouting Minerals with some pirates.

A while ago- Stopped and thought, drank some tea.
A little while ago- Watched American ******, read Fear and loathing in Las Vegas while watching the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas while on Lsd.
Some time ago- slept in, Slept with someone, listened to "Endless, Nameless" on repeat for four straight hours.
Not too long ago- HaD a DrEaM tHaT i CaN't ReMeMbEr, had an acoustic nightmare, melted the atmosphere of my brain with *****, and had a cancer attack.
A light year ago- Watched Live Leak while eating smores, more and more, more or less, she was *******, which was cool and all but I got a little scared.
A minute ago- typed the last line which isn't this line but is supposed to be, I guess.


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.

Eyes are pretty.
Green.
Acoustics.
Why.
Under.
Why am i ******* writing this.
Blankets.
****.
It’s not right.
Wait.
Until I write this.
No need.
Sky lights.
Double back.
For the first time.
In Forever.
Please.
Too much.
Not too much.
Not enough.
Never enough.
No more dreams.
No more drugs.
No more.
Ignore.
Ignorance.
Persistent.
Friend I'm sorry.
Highway.
Drive way.
Lightly.
Highlights.
Highway road lights.
& fog.
Headrest.
Sifting.
Conquest.
Conscious.
No more affection.
No longer intimate.
No longer important.
The writing is no more important than the ground I stand on.
Bleach & paint thinner.
Sadness gets grimmer.
I’m uninvited to my own funeral.
Let the takers flood in.
Let the knowers get drunk.
Let the mental serial killers float about.
& let the plan work with doubt.
Let the Charlie find their way home.
Let the poets go to Rome & drink tea, and whiskey.
Let the skellies run up mountains.
let your nerves wash away in a lake.
& let her kindness melt within what you need to take.
Let go.
Let go.
Let go.

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.

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.

Sorry For the blood.
It’s wine.
No tears.
Waffles and higher frequencies.
Higher meanings.
Spoiled drinks.
Sink into the rug.
Her presence.
Like a drug.
Walk around.
Insides hurt.
Nervous hands gripping hair.
Schnapps in the air around.
Watch.
Stare into a dark wall.
A dark hall.
Sit.
Quiet.
Silent.
No noise.
Don’t let them hear you.
Why.
You’ll drown.
In.
Stay inside.
It’s dark out there.
Smoke.
Lights.
Take what you can carry.
& Find who you wanna marry.
Too much has been chosen.
Dylan records on queue.
Few becomes less.
A mess becomes more.
A Mold of life.
A cold reporter.
War reporter.
On water works.
Water towers.
Wooden flowers.
Cancel the shindig.
I’m gone.
Tell her i’m wrong.
She was right.
I might just starve.
Out here.
In the wastes.
To the past pace.
Of when time was a place.
With nowhere to go.
No one to be.
No one but myself to impress.
Always.
I’m sleepless.

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.

So Close.

You sewed your mouth.
When it rained in your head.
For what it's lived.
& what it's not.
You sickened yourself to stay home
for me.
Come see me.
& lay in this bed.
Your algorithmic speech.
Flaunted.
Sitting sweater.
Tears seducing the *****.
Its dance.
Its cry.
You to be the muse.
You to make the sigh.
Of love & relief.
& with visions so delicate.
& prompted.
You play the strings then slumber.
Kept warm under.
Passing the sound.
Around.
& around it went.
& still goes.




Garrett Johnson.

So impossible Tuesday.

Awaiting decay.
As orange blossom.
In tidal pools.
When it's just right.
Change, reminds me.
Going creaking in the night.
Desperate woods.
In hallways.
But only.
Thank you.


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.

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.

Lost.
It’s pleasing.
Take it.
E.
E.
Ez.
Breeze is nice up here.
The dust must conjure.
The emotions ride.
Arrive from biscuit town.
Say hello to the scarecrow.
His ma works for a blues musician.
She is the blues musician.
His brother knows everything about Trump.
Even when he *****.
His sister loves Bruce Lee.
Or at least the aesthetic of him.
Bigfoot shot himself back in time.
To meet Jack Kerouac.
When he got there he learned that Jack was captured by the Yakuza.
He did nothing and went home.
Mr. Scarecrow was bigfoot.
A little girl told him that he was going to die alone.
That he wouldn’t mind the pain.
That everything he changed wouldn’t work.
It would all just be the same.
Don’t fall in love the little girl said to him.
What the hell does she know.
She’s 10 years young.
But i’m stuck here with Arthur Russell material.
Echoing a voice to the world.
Hoping to mean something.
Listen for a call back.
Peace within.
Call back.
Please call back.
I’ll stand of frozen bridges while they melt.
Then dive head first into the water.
Sink.
Sink.

Sink to the lowest point of my existence.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Still around somehow.

You're down when they walk by.
Skulking like crimson.
On your rug.
Treacherous.
So vulnerable.
What a position.
Crying for death.
Seeing what could be seen.
The scene so meloncholy.
But we laughed.
Spitting Pneumonia in noire.
Leaving all things heavy.
N blowin in the wind.


Garrett Johnson.

Washing the destruction in drum fire.
Insolent edges on this here blade.
Enough to cut down all veins.
Roots.
From mercury covered arm.
Fluids on the carpet.
Blankets.
On grass.
Ground.
Liveliness.
The forgotten transaction.
From autumn night.
66.
On apartment rug.
New York.
Flashback.
Piano keys on ballad of a thin man.
Really ties the room together.
At least that’s what I thought.
I open the door.
To speak to the clone on the wall.
Pure water on glass.
Half thinks to the movie tickets.
You’re tearing me apart.
What a rebel he is.
What a man, a man could be, with little time to be him.
Sis.
What a little girl, a little girl could be with little time to be her.
What is this.
Who is this.
Why is this dying.
Every distortion for the throat.
No safe insurance.
All for the lonely.
One too many mornings.
With the bathtub blues.
Only place to sleep.
No time for a bed.
Cigarettes and Strawberries.
Hyacinth.
All around in Hyacinth.
Hyacinth garden for the discarded.
A trip on sadness.
Or a void for eternity


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.

Sylvia on repeat for hours.

Said in everything
Sludge somebody to Love.
Mix it in April
I know it's hard.


Garrett Johnson.