Frozen fountain night night.
Tacos these days, not cake.
I’m making up stories
that planes are dancing in the desert.
Two tap, trio sings soul.
Sheep stands and stares, “they’re there.”
I’m making up stories
that plains will dance in the sand.
I read too far into things,
so far that I circle back eventually,
or, I know what everything means,
or, maybe I am crazy.
Where have you been?
What year is it? Friday? Okay. That works. Anyways.
Saw the fountain as more,
I just didn’t know how to take it.
Houseplants, no room, cold door.
Wedding, treadmill, we will.
I’m making up stories
that words are landing in the distance.
Happy garden hiya.
High dive, sky dive, space coop.
I’m making up stories
that birds will dance in the sand.
By my bed and, I don’t know.
In my head? A soft pillow.
Sometimes time just has to go,
so I close my eyes for a while.
A single sheep stands there staring,
“Even I’ve seen the signal.
Frozen fountain night night.
Trust in you, you’ve been right.
Quiet listens. It’s caring.”
this is your life chuck johnson 