Flippity, drippity, skipping me, stop.
Thinking then blinking then shrinking that thought.
Freaking out, speaking out, leaking what’s clear.
Churning then learning then burning all fear.
Staring down at the line between reason and rhyme.
Giving another person another piece of our time.
Walking a whole life, never reading a book,
penning your own, though constantly shook.
I lay me out to dry and wonder what I’m sweating.
I prayed once and must’ve been misunderstood.
Could’ve sworn that’s not what I asked for.
Come to think of it, I never asked for anything.
I say I’d pray again one day,
she’d stay, we’d stroll on all the beaches.
I lay me out and hope I’m not forgetting.
Sqwuakity, talkity, watch us grow old.
Writing this, fighting this blight-singing soul.
Sanctity, pranks on me, thanks to my luck.
Worry me, hurry me, don’t give a fuck.
Pray to myself and misunderstand what I say.
My anchor’s out there leaving, feel it’s floating away.
It was all coming together and bursting apart.
Skipping, circles inside my mind
and all they saw was art.
Later on, when the suns show their faces,
I’ll go walk outside to stop inside pacing.
Probably wish it was still around –
a smile not seen in a while, back on the ground,
I’ll lay me out tonight and hope I don’t forget it.
this is your life chuck johnson 