I'm still writing about you.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

She is a hive full of
Sweetness.
But , never far from
the sting .

“I see you “ she smiles
as she touches my face .

Upstairs she lies
with coverlets and curtains.

I am searching
and searching.
But , for what
I’m not sure .

Maybe diamonds
but probably
Fireflies and Lace .

Working towards not
losing my shadow.

My inertia’s held
prisoner
to her beauty
my moral vision
called and questioned.
The death of leaves ,
stranded on the high wire
in the back of beyond.

We keep going back and forth for no apparent reasons.
And it always centered around the seasons.
You love winter and I adore spring.
You into fall and I m into summer.

And finally, we have reached this conclusion that it's creating trouble.

We keep finding ways just to argue.
When they mainly baseless because we love one another.

So we now reached this conclusion to enjoy each other.
Whether it rains?
Whether its snows?
We will find some way to keep ourselves warm.

We keep saying this just to settle on that.
When it is love that keeps us connected.
And we extremely happy.

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.

Oh, you poor old soul
Wandering this Earth alone...
Remember:
you'll have an end
And you'll meet it
all by yourself, 
with no friend.

Remember you'll die.

He said-
Words cannot hurt you
And I tried to remember that
As they slid down my throat

for all that you stole.