he is his own homestead
his heart on a string
he leaves it at home when
he goes out wandering
so he can follow it back
at the end of the day
he says his heart belongs
to me, yet it leads him astray

so he leaves traces behind
and collects as he goes
all the while waiting
is me and he knows
i wont wait forever
at the theshold of his abode
right now hes with me
for how long? unknown

Just because I'm continuously searching that doesn't mean I'm forever lost.

I am wandering.
A home does not have me.
I wish I wasn’t homeless.
Which means,
I wish I had a place that I could reside.
For more than a night.
A place that feels right
for me.
Permanently
or at least without worry of
where I’ll be staying next week.
Or even the next day.
It is pure misery.
The waiting and
the not knowing.
Because if we’re speaking honestly,
Being a refugee
is killing me.

I wish my mom cared about me.
I wish she truly understood me.
But alas it is me
Who cares for her being,
Who cares if she eats
and how she’s feeling.
Whether she’s weeping
or screeching
my love comes plenty
or it did until she took and took
and left me empty.

and no one cares about me.

what’s stopping me from disappearing?
I should just grab the sharpest object
closest to me
and get to slashing
and slitting  
and cutting.
I should obliquely
forge my arm
while having a conversation with myself
“Heat the blade”
I would say
“Maybe it won’t sting.”
Yeah and maybe it’ll leave a pretty little line
that’ll remind me that my perception
has always been undoubtedly clogged.

petals of the willow
vibrate with mild rain
as our approaching footsteps
run through them
coalescing in a magical scene
seemingly beyond a stroll in the park;
above,the crepuscular sky hangs
fake-looking,like a stageplay's backdrop
with a myriad of still blue's overlaying
one another
and the clouds like puffy scabs atop youthful skin.

I think we are slowing
down (perhaps,unconsciously to fit
the pace of the scene)
and I think our footsteps are mirroring our heartbeats,
I know Mine are
And I know Yours are mirroring Mine.

beneath us the willows' petals tremble soft
and I am glad
to be alone with You tonight,to belong to the park
together,forever entuned,
forever entwined-- if only for tonight.

In my search for the universe
I heard the wingbeats of a butterfly
Wandering from the moon to the earth
I saw the stars sprinkle dust of love
Onto lands uncharted
And in those moments
I discovered worlds inside you

“You know what hurts? The fact that you don’t want me the same way I want you. You don’t mind talking to me, but you don’t have the urge and want to talk to me anymore. You don’t mind having a conversation if I message, but you will never want to message. What hurts is that I can see it happening, subtly and gradually. I can see you losing interest in me. I can see those eyes wandering in search of someone else when once they were focused on me. I can feel the distance, I can see you fading.”

- Excerpt from an open letter

Conversation with some guy.

Have you ever killed anyone.
****, man we're going there already.
Well have you.
Yeah.
Who.
Charlie; in the war, had to **** him with my camera.
Oh, you were a war photographer.
Photographer, journalist, I've been a lot of things.
Are you part of the pine tree communist propaganda team.
Woe man, slow down.
Did you or did you not, meet with the monk of monkies in Massachusetts.
Hey man, your questions are a little too high caliber for my surf board.
I'm just trying to break some new ground here...well, what do you like to do.
Oh you know the casual acid flashbacks, Godzilla showings at the theater, um hanging out with some Samurai Chicks ya know, stuff like that.
Have you ever been to the mountains Mr._ ?
Well there was this one time when I was at this festival in Colorado, and this guy said he was going to hitchhike up to Woody Creek and he asked if any body wanted to join him, so I tagged along, he said his name was Chuck I think, yeah Chuck Manson, he went on about wanting to **** somebody but I didn't really think about it, he did play some music which was really good, it was very soulful.
(A heavy sigh)Can you recall where you were a few hours ago.
I was here.
What do mean you were here.
I've always been here, constructing this reality that you're sitting in right now.
(End Tape)
Goodbye.



Garrett Johnson.

A Kerouac Afternoon.

Penniless on a traded lie for a life.
Finally found in a hazel eye.
Walking around in the finest sky of nowhere.
An afternoon of series after series.
After serious reasons of grief.
Get a grip, man.
Out and displaced.
Creek.
Lying in mud.
More comfort when the blood settles at the bottom.
Old and torn.
Beat up some wolves.
Crawled while crying to my hole in the river.
One with the fishes.
And other earthly fuel.



Garrett Johnson.

Went on and on..
Wandering through the wonderful wonders..
One after the other
Till I came accross..
My wonderful wonderland.