Time measured by song,
distance is nothing but a sign.
I remember running under that mountain,
after that first one took off.
Such resilient lives.
I wonder what really happened.
No more thinking for now.
What if it comes around?
Lately it’s been on my mind, someway, somehow.
Heard whispers of prolific, he screams,
‘no screws, they were loose a long time ago.
Fell out last time I fell down. Truce.
What’s the use in doing this?
All this writing for nothing.
Piled up dead plastic pens for nothing, just wasteful.
Disgraceful. All of this comes from nothing,
and that’s not me.’
Lies measured by noise,
loving left nothing but a slide.
I remember crawling out in the desert
after the silence found this.
What a brilliant time.
I wonder what really happened.
No more moving for now.
When the time comes around.
Lately she’s been on my mind, someway, somehow.
Pray she sleeps late these days.
Sunlit morning shades.
Day peaks in to see her grace
dreaming in bed,
of calm kitchens on the water.
this is your life chuck johnson 