Always stand against my hurt
Ghost lips on the thigh bite
Always tie my spindle veins wafer thin
Thoughts zoom sync auto pictographs
Words can't lisp sweetly
robotussin giggle about it
Upon my ghost
Always stand against my hurt
Ghost eyes
Ghost spit
Ghost thighs
Always stand against my hurt
Attrition life sustenance
Nutrition
Always stand against my heart

Lying here beside you
Staring into the brush stroked abyss
My mind registers
And whirs
And composes
The words I'm overrun with
The stories that run down the sides of my consciousness
Like I ran down that hill in my white gown
Running from my past
Into our future
I ache with excitement and yearning to speak with you
Awakenings fresh on my ink stained fingertips
Bubbling on the tip of my canvas stretched tongue
Expanding and morphing their confines
Unrecognizable
Without meaning
Devoid of intelligence
Scrawls and scratches of a cave dweller
Somehow paired with a Greek god
Your smile
Lost in the hieroglyphic translations on the page before you
The conversations I long to have
Reduced to mere finger-painted pictographs
Where I lose your attention
Incapable of expressing your radiance

Pictographs concoct



Quaint flavors



An appetite blooms





Ginger locks descend



Passion skates



A micro death sparks





Pixels synthesize



Collections



Of synchronized whines





Lips laced with temptation



Eyes descending sunsets



Elements of resolution



© 2012 (All rights reserved)





This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary



The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com

.

Paddles lap softly
against water, dark as coal.
A calm mind within.

The cry of a loon,
eerie and hollow-    silence.
Red sun gently lows.

Water color scene-
water blurring into sky,
uniting as one.

Foolish gulls argue
for the remains of our catch.
Eagles claim their fill.

With each paddle stroke,
drive shoulders and back against
ruthless wind and waves.

Dull red pictographs-
reminders of the old ways
abandoned by time.

Sit with me
Here right close to me
Whisper me your secrets
Felt tip Rembrandts
The ones your grandma touched
The ones you felt
With a soul ill and in crutch
Granite corner stores
Marble ****** bores
Cone stuck n' lucky
I remember rabbit and ducky
The way they hopped and quacked
No one else
Could ever call them fat
Cruise for me now do not drowse
Music is pouring
My grandmas dead but not snoring
Storming red cloud triple seductively
The Gods will their way
You fight
You may be blessed to stay
Look forward from here
Look far to the future
Loaded lily lies yellow foreground poses
Models of ancient molds
Pictographs in ancient like snaps
Marble statue marble sneeze
Marble meanings underneath they are still dreaming
K n yellow way you are leaving from me tomorrow and today
Today was yesterday last month was tomorrow but who can say?
Poetry is dead
Poetry is not learned
So instead
We have this dribble
To read

I am hieroglyphic pottery
Broken before my
Time'd begun...
I tried to piece myself
Together, but found
The puzzle overrun.

I couldn't find the
Precious fragment
With which to keep
The water in...
It flowed out, yellow
And stagnant
Full of sickness
Full of sin.

Yes, I'm a hieroglyphic
Vase... a bowl with
Pictographs and runes
I'm whole now, you'll
Find this is the case,
I found the piece!
This blessed boon!

My hieroglyphics are
A summer scene,
The piece I needed
And I won,
Was the part which
Soared the heavens
The constant
Ever faithful

*SON.

My fascination of words come from a deep place…
Shards of broken hopelessness,
Discarded in pieces, through metaphors
Seeking life within the lines of poetry.
Wanting to creep out of my soul,
From my veins through my fingertips…

I write for me.
My words are not for humanity…
There won’t be any prophesies scrawled across cave walls
Only fragments of my being,
Refracted in the images I paint on paper,
Printed in blood ink.

My words are release.
There are no pictographs or,
Phenomenon discoveries,
Veiled in my assortment of letters,
Etched in my broken rib cage of fragility…
Printed only out of desperation.

My fascination with words is contingent...
I put in bulks of fleshy bits of insanity,
And I secrete emotions,
Ravaged by war,
Because for some reason,
Pain is equivalent to beauty.

Sometime my words become selfish.
They bombard my mental cavity,
Asking so much of me,
I have to stop in the middle of the street
And write thoughts down
before I lose them.

My words consume me.
I think differently,
I feel differently.
Every sense is heightened in this state.
I lose myself in the worlds I create.
My words are my only escape.

Clouds on the bedroom floor.

It isn't anything.
Maybe it's everything.
Seeing it all.
The waves.
Midnight.
While you're still here.
Feel like ****.
Pictographs.
Written cloth.
Sidewalk in Perth.
Headphones.
for every reason.


Garrett Johnson.

when you are travelers
your conquests are
passages highlighted
in yellow
dog earred pages spoken
in pictographs
but when you are conquests
with velvet letters painted on your back
rooms filled with red thumb tacks
girls with names scrawled all across
their thighs, passport stamps carried
from country to country
milling about with scabby knees and
raw elbows
a noh mask to hide your shame
and not your face
a push pin on an unlisted county
barely within a three mile radius--
he's a photo up on the shelf and
you're just another notch in his belt.

compelling you forward
compelling you backward
compellling you each and every way
and compelling you every day
and it works out
in this way
for awhile
and I feel
less afraid of things
and more willing
to make it all work out
in the end
with people to worry about
and consider
and the hardships of that
and having to be somebody like hank
in order to figure it all out
its a blossoming season
its a blossoming rhyme
rhyme great, small or treason
to the common good
to the common people
attempting to make their mark
on the droppings of confession
and making it interesting
for the past lives and in the future
and furnature
and wanting to make it in an existing place
and making arrangements with the many few who go about cursing and sailing
who make pictographs with negative lines running through them
then call in security when the measures are not falling through
its cemented in the logic and in the people
its cemented on the brains of idiocracy
and its laminated in fortune and solitude
and its mixing
calculated
clockwork
nonsense

You told me you were an abandoned building
Left rotting in the sun
Elements creeping in
On your walls and foundation
Tearing down your roof and structure
I am not so
Come with me
I will show you myself

In the skeleton of my head
Ceramic figures sit
Silent, sentient
On cobweb shelves
Pictures of you hang on the walls
Nailed into a flesh colored wallpaper
*****, coffee stained carpeting
Leading from the attic of my mind
Down the back of my skull
Vertebrae circular staircases
Winding down and around
Through floors and floors
Of keratin wainscoting
Dusty shelves overcrowded with books and trinkets
Plastic dinosaurs and matchbox cars
A room full of doll houses
Plastic mommies and daddies
Driving four seater lithium battery powered doll cars
Cooking over two burner stoves with imitation heat
Playing pretend, I know this game best

Rooms with filing cabinets stacked up to the ceiling
When you pull out the drawers
Files and paperwork going back and back and back
Blue crayon bills of sale
Newspapers and emails color coded for different emotional reactions
Red folders with locks, chains, and warning signs
CAUTION FLAMABLE

Rooms empty of windows
***** of string for dust bunny cats
Baby teeth still tethered to the end
Strung between doorknobs and skeletons
The last flight of stairs
Leads straight down to a flooded basement
Salt water filling up cracks in the concrete
Bulkhead door latched shut
A femur stuck between the handles
You'd have to break a bone to escape

You follow your nose down passages
With markings saying 'connect here'
Finding comfort
In the smell of sage burning in between hip bones
Incense rising through chimney stacked ribs
Puffing out through a nasal passage

A few levels above
Curtains and blinds piled on top of each other
Trying to block out light
Pouring in through two blue tinted windows
Hollowed out, stained glass eyes

Mute little birds fly around in a tiny menagerie
Tiny parchment paper scrolls attached to their ankles
House arrest thoughts
Sometimes little rivers over flow
Down a façade of brick walls into little wells
To dry to hold wishes

In the right wing
Traveling down the arm
Little passage ways with doors
Swinging open and shut
Little electric trains blowing stops and whistles
Running around and around
Five little engines
Puffing out coal and smoke
Until they hole themselves up
In tunnels at night

In the left wing
Plates and dishes smashed on the floor
Ceramic shards rearrange themselves
Into mosaics and pictographs
Sliding around on metal tiles
Until they grind themselves into a fine powder
Slipping though the floor
Little skin cells flaking off the siding

Dry scratching noises echo through the tunnel
Back to the skull
At the very crown of the building
Rope makers work tirelessly every day
Stitching brown threads into the ceiling
Packing insulation tight in perfect rows
Until the rain comes in and washes them out
Trying to weatherproof roofing shingles
That act as if they are no thicker than coffee filters

Sometimes the power surges to quickly
Everything goes dark
Batteries overheat
Unable to remember which switch to flip
Which circuit breaker to fix
Which wires to cut, splice, and fuse the ends
Where to put the band-aids so they will stick
Until they get wet
A four battery chamber transformer
Inducting molecules, protons, electrons
Gassing up to restart
Not knowing which end goes to which side
How to get the cover back on
So I don't electrocute myself
Fry the circuits, start a fire

I end up
Sitting in the dark, alarm blaring
Emergency sprinkler system going off
Making puddles of tears
To drown out my fears
All wired up
Overloading and burning out
Turn the wind turbines on
Let them dry up the mess
Blowing fresh air through stale lung chambers

The ache in my stomach refuses to part with me
Empty shelves in the pantry
Don't cry over spilled milk
Tear up, when there is none to spill
Empty glass jars sitting in boiling water
All jammed up
Refusing to cook
Because one time
The gas was, accidentally
Left running, on the burner
Fear is a smell I would prefer die without tasting
A tasteless life no sweeter

I close the doors.
Oaken ribcage of my halls swing shut.
Hinges creaking under the strain
I remember why
I don't let anyone in
It's to cold in here for me
To quiet for them
Hating how I feel
When left lonely
Without a friend
If the dark is all I now how can I fear it
I am not near it
Becoming what I always knew I was
Not a single cut above, or below
Not a mark uncounted
I am the one who makes flowers grow
On the inside of the earth
Down below
Down I go
To dance after death

In the halls of Un-
Remembered
hieroglyph in sand...

Gold cartouche dunes sigh
lost times alien memory
ancient gods have died

tour guide Egypt’s dunes
to throne and center piece
a beam from on high

Old heavens watching
an empty chamber of stones
pictographs of bone

What all was common
for Amen and kid king Tut,
now ghosts in the dust...?

(Oh mortality!
Silent screams in jars of clay
Preserved in wrappings)

Who am I.
Not thinking suicide.
I want this life with love eloping
Soon as I... can move this
*******. Celestial
Grooming time.
With foolish very.
Mood lit.
Muted conversations
Happening with you and I...
You knew this time.
My love was not a hemi sphere
Its circling.
Your atmosphere
And as it nears.
You make me
Look like dancing
Pictographs
Collages of every smile
That made you tear...
My mate is here.
You can face your fear.
And join my heart.
In every memory.
You never seen.
The deer and rabbits.
Run from foxes.
Never need. To stop it.
*** I want you to end the hunt
With my body.
In your jaws.
And my soul. Nourishing.
Your happiness.
My man. Let's hear it for the boy.

my computer freezes
b/c I download too many
pinups; from Inanna to
Elle Fanning, random
bikinis & mom snooch;
now I can find online
what I used to keep under
my bed; what a waste;
dictionaries & textbooks
have all turned to ****;
despite sometimes even
running into the skanky
**** models isn't as bad as
priests serially ****** over 1,000
kids over years & years, keeping
detailed documents like fascists do;
openly mocking what they preach &
the church is "conflicted" over it - -
ridden w/it is more to the point;
Christ was a poet & philosopher
even if fictitious, the guy had something -
but weirdos & creeps form the backbone
of the Catholic Church; living like kings -
off his reputation, perverts owning it:
**** clubs have nothing on these guys -
I'm ****** that good old fashioned street
walkers went the way of the rotary phone;
priest take a vow that is obviously *******;
committing ur life to god should get u life
the 1000's of pinups on my computer should
accumulate into a singular harmonic algorithm
displaying the uniform proportions of every
single person in one substantial 3D figure;
w/ the personality of my computer [none] &
reflecting my choice of images [flappers,
B-girls, ******] | Frankenhooker I'm thinking |
what other kind of girl would emerge from my
computer; a **** made entirely of pixels; soft
& squishy like a Real Doll, or an old woman;
my computer freezes b/c I download
too many pinups from the 20's, 30's, 50's & 60's of
women, many of whom have long died of old age;
I often fantasize about Ann Frank & Clara Bow -
Sylvia Plath & Bettie Page; then I think, oh, yeh,
back-projected synthetic neurons  [virtual puppets]
make her go & stop, turn & come back; writers of
yore embraced these things & writers yet to write;
using the female body as letters in a specific alphabet;
spelling out body after body in pictographs of Linear Z
she is the word, word after word, the same word, taking different forms & shapes like lips, eyes, a whole             face, ears, arms, painted fingernails,
knees, ankles, hairless snooch, curious wrinkled **** hole, brief perineum, long downy nape, belly navel,   crack of sacrum, clavicles [             ], soft round shoulders