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.