I need a nice rug that I don’t care about
Vacuum up this dirt
so there’s no more sweeping on saturdays.
That only leads to flipping fluttering thoughts.
I’ve always seen who is who they seem.
I don’t read the paper, it only plays with my dreams.
Am I to believe what I was told?
Is any of this ever going to unfold?
Have you ever loved a woman so much
you know you should leave her alone?
Dustpans, like us, don’t do what they’re supposed to.
Leave a little mess behind, it’s fine.
You say hard things aloud and everything softens.
Wish I could live in my skin more often.
Waiting for love to drop in a frost bitten orchard
feels like living with this mind, and it’s torture.
I’ve got enough mind of my very own.
I swing for fences when opinions get thrown.
I’d like to throw my phone away.
I’d like to have my very own day.
With more sleeping.
With no sweeping.
this is your life chuck johnson 