my hands.

and,
thinking of how they long
to reach out and touch you,
remembering the curve
of your cheek,
the fine whisps of hairs
on your chin.
how they long to linger
in the curls of your hair.

this mutiny,
this exile of sorts is more
than i can take.

and,
remembering the softness,
the loose grip on your arm,
in the stillness of night.
the knowing in the clear daylight,
that I can never reach out,
can never touch you again.

There's too much pain and longing,
and pity and wronging that have
oozed from these fingertips.

and,
silently hoping
beyond some feigned hope
that I could shoulder your embrace,
feel the curve of your cheek
on your splendid face.

and,
knowing they will never hold yours again.
nor,
crest around our sacred place,
nor,
feel any ecstasy,
from our lifeless love.

and,
knowing this path is for the best.

We never molded any future,
from the balance of our past,
no firsts ever garnered from our lasts.

but,
still,
hoping,
praying,
needing,
longing.

Jason Christopher Johnson
December 6, 2011

What I Found

In this looking glass,
Smooth, still
No hold for the future or past,
Frozen things, and things naught.
In these moments,
Loudly silent,
Ripe and pitiful,
Dark things, and things taut.
On this wayward road,
Rocky, throughout
Plastered with thought and memory
of hopes and wanton things.
In all this crunch and mire,
sound and fury,
pulling voices and
hopes unhurried.
In these waiting years,
Full up with words,
long and short,
crude and hot.
In all this time,
Looking up,
Looking down,
searching
hoping
Looking all around,
Far and near,
Only to find that my peace,
my peace...
was here.

Jason Christopher Johnson

your hands.

And, sometimes
When they touch me,
It hurts.
Like rough stone,
To a paper thing.
The smell of them.
Filtered smoke,
tobacco things.
And,
Memories oozed out of their tips,
Artifact stones buried inside.

Never holding a flame for me,
No torch to lay down,
Or shudder aside.
And, I cowered underneath them,
weak and longing.
Still, somehow forgotten,
Walking through those chambers,
shouldering no pride,
having no guide.

I knew them once,
Thick and heavy on my face.
My cheeks flushed with the faint
countenance of this
borrowed love.
Rough, unused, and worn out.
torn, jagged edges,
to my softest places,
to the dark, guarded spaces
of me.
from you.

And, still,
I long for your touch,
Knowing I may break,
underneath your hand,
I sit wondering
where is the man
I knew so well,
so long,
so prideful.

And, thinking now,
How I see the backsides of them,
more than feeling
the warmth,
the care,
the sense of your touch.

And, knowing now,
How good it will be to never
feel your touch again,
But,
yearning.
hoping.
praying.
needing.

Jason Christopher Johnson
October, 2011

safety.

it's never safe for me,
to be near you,
cause usually we've both
been drinking.

it's never safe for me,
to be alone,
in the day or the evening,
cause my thoughts...

my thoughts
lean dark.

twas never safe for us,
to have met.

you stood, unmoved,
i stood, pushing,
even against hope.

i tried to move back,
to where we used to be,
when there was innocence,
and pride,
and smiles.

my blood stops
at your touch,
fear,
that it may be the last time.
or never feel like the first.

my shine,
dulled.
your allure,
nulled.

it's never safe for us,
even in the morning,
cause usually
you're just getting in.
and, i'm hard,
cold.

all i have,
all we have,
are our vices.

no hopes here,
for this thing
i'd dreamed of.
this...
us.

it's never safe for us,
cause i'm usually crazy,
waiting for you to feed me,
bits.
bites.
pieces of the you that
you want me to have.

nothing whole
or sure.

it's never safe for us,
cause usually i've been drinking,
tied up
in some time that
neither can find.
mirrors shined/down on all
that i go through,
just to be safe here with
some part of you.

walking around this house,
scared limp,
by your ghosts,

a lone wine glass,
a shirt you left behind,
the night's empty bottle of wine.

ain't no safety here,
cause we both keep fighting.
for the will that
neither has.

my heart sits,
half altered,
restless,
and, i can't look to you.

so, i'll pick up one more
bottle,
one more pill,
one more puff.

and, i know
there, will never be
safety
for me here.

Jason Christopher Johnson

The bell simply tolls

No need for thought
or pondering beyond
duty.

No worry with administration,
money things,
or unrequieted love,
The bell simply tolls,
when it tolls.

No mixed messages
about you being here or there,
or hoping, wondering where you want to be.

No fiddling around with day or night garments,
to attract someone who cannot see
you for who you are or hope one day to be.

The bell simply tolls when it tolls.

No need for fits of organization,
Or pomp and circumstance,
No whimsy held for the first or
the last dance.

The bell simply tolls when it tolls.

No questions.
No searches.
No need for hope or answers.
No cues and wants
and wonderment and flaunts
and risk and haunting...

The bell simply tolls when it tolls.

Loud and uncaring
Proud and unsharing.
Moved, in it's own time,
Outside all other reason and rhyme,

The bell simply tolls when it tolls.

In due time,
I'll have no care for you being in my
audience.
I'll have no want for your applause,
I'll have no need for your witness,
I'll have no heart full up with stress.

I'll simply breathe when I breathe
I'll speak when I speak.

I'll loom around my own life,
Dance around my own floors,
Lead my own movements,

For, the bell simply tolls when it tolls.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 19, 2011

song.s.

my love song
was really my work song.
you were a craven
and made me dig, toil,
and labor.

my love song
was really my hurt song.
some dead thing,
no turn or stems.
full up with fossil life,
full up with what was.

my love song
was really my fear song.
your tongue.
your hand.
you.
cold.
me,
living in this risky,
delicate place.

my love song
was really my horror song.
i did nothing but fear
and cower for the moment
that you wouldn't be here.

my love song
was really my death song.
a dirge and march with no music.
my spirit,
my hopes,
dreams.
there. dead. cuffed up
into your passions.

my love song
became my end song.


Jason Christopher Johnson

Here...?

Here,
There?
Everywhere...?
And, still out of reach.
A puzzle with still missing pieces,
Like waterless baths,
Tearless cries.

A wound, unhealed,
A place open,
but unfilled.
Piled into questions,
No answers.
Fostered into regret.
The stench of things undone,
unlived.
together.

Where do they all go?
Dancing around. They are ghosts,
Screaming banshees,
Hurting.
And, then hurting us who remain
to sweep and wipe and clean
the messes of the past.
To pull up: bootstraps and move,
forward
without looking back,
Straining smiles,
In the face of newly formed
relations.

Naught of things we had dreamed,
But, what life gave us to fill in
Bleakness for glee.
Doubt for surety.

Hope
falls from the table,
beyond the floor.
Out of sight.
Away from the heart.

Here,
There?
Where?

It was in our hands.

But, we are people
And, we ruin things.
Things that make us happy,,
that bring pleasure.
Things that matter
that we love,
people, places,
we ruin them.

We turn our lives into that
hobby.

Creations of nothingness, voided
from fullness and puffy glee.

Like a muted sound,
May not exist.
A stifled happiness brings sadness
and mire.

Here,
There?
Where?
Everywhere.
Every place.
Every day.
Every way.

Through all of time.
Jason Christopher Johnson
From the archives...

Seeing you...

written on the occasion of seeing
someone from the past.

caused me to realize
just how much I'd missed you,
like our summer nights miss
soft rains.

made me hush up
and stand tall,
like some recovering
wind-shifted
tree.

forced me to
remember and take in your
beauty.
an elegant, longing pain
that i could not stand.

brought memories
here
in this place
in this now.

made me remember
all the nights i sat on my hands.
holding pillows
with tear stained face,
dry and thirsting
for your
love.

seeing you
reminded me
how it is to live
in fear
distrust.

seeing you
reminded me
that i had moved on
and that your hold
was gone.

the color of this.

gold laden,
pressed out,
virgin sheets for our bodies
to end up tangled in.
and wet.

orange colors,
red heat,
hopeful motions from your hips
passionately kissed,
by your lips.
and breathless.

purple walls,
wrapped around us,
hugged tightly,
like all these things we know.
and tired.

blue muscles,
throbbing and cramped up,
like some never ending work/out.
tightness.
and touched.

white openness,
spread around,
your skin,
laying softly on my tone,
like piano keys,
mixed and mingled.
and trusted.
and confused.
and wanted.
and used.

brown smoothness,
looming underneath you,
my skin,
laying below your tone,
blended.
pure.
and hopeful.
and new.
and present.
and true.

I won't wait

I won't sit and nurse idle hands,
I cannot tap my feet to the rhythm,
of a song that you won't let me hold.
It's not possible to set up my life,
in your future mind or days of old.

What movements exist in a waltz
done with no one?
What lives or green things can grow
with no sun?

I won't stand in a corner place,
Unmoving, not quenching my thirsts,
waiting for your hand,
pining away my life,
while you make up some plan.

I cannot allow your words,
to seep out into my ears
and down through my blood
to my heart,
Full up with empty promises,
Untruths spoken,
Simply, words
Null.
Nothing.

I can't stand in front of a mirror,
And think of truth,
while digesting your lies.

We brought us here,
to this maze of sorts.
I will no longer try to navigate,
the darkness of your heart.

I have to remember to,
protect and nurture all of this
for my part.

I won't wait,
for you.
for this us.
through all of your crunch, mire,
and fuss.
Wave your hands,
Shed your tears,
I've got to move on,
So I can get back
my years.

Jason Christopher Johnson

Superman, gone.

With little fanfare
Outside my heart,
Inside my mind,
You,
My superman was gone.

With sleep embedded all over,
In the most still twilight,
I noticed your shoes were
no longer by my door.
There was no crumpled shirt,
or dirty socks on the floor.

Like some ill willed wind time thing,
You were gone.
No words,
No sad songs to sing.
But, like the night
giving way to the brutality of the sun,

with no good byes,
no sweetness whispered to me in my half sleeps,
you were my
Superman, gone.

I hold my cheek,
I wonder if you kissed me there
stooping as you buttoned your shirt,
fast and tentatively like you always do.

I need your hand,
I need your step and gait,
and your soft sleep murmurs
and your light snore next to me.

Where have you gone?
What is your plan?

Days pass and nights bleed into them,
Open wounds on my heart.
Movements I cannot contain.

I find things,
an ashtray,
a bottle of merlot,
a lighter,
underwear tucked into my laundry basket.

tragic things.

Who will wash for you now,
or cook,
or clean,
or mend,
or rub...?

Perhaps,
She has something
I could not proffer.
A stance you needed,
That I could not know.

All I do know,
This house is no longer a home,
These notes don't create a song,
My hand isn't steady at all,
and, you are my broken memory,
my Superman, gone.

Superman. Now.

No discounting,
No taking for granted,
No movements aside,
or backwards.

Appreciative,
Thankful, in this
now.
For your arm,
For your hand,
For all these things,
that no one else understands.

For all the times,
You've been my superman.

No yester/year memories,
No should haves,
No wish you would haves,

Because I have been your superman
too.

Thankful,
Now for all the chances,
all these hopes and trusts,
and walks and dances.

For present safety,
For present faith,
For unencountered
closeness.
For letting me fit into your plan
For being right now,
my superman.

Jason Christopher Johnson

Superman, Forward Thinking!

There comes a night,
a day,
a time.
When your arms will grow,
reach extended.
hold tighter.
There reveals a love,
a trust.
a hoping.
That we will move,
forward.
onward.
From this still/place.

Jason Christopher Johnson

all these things...

i have walked so many
shores
swam in waters, crisp and even
and deep.
moved alongside mountains
sprung up out of this earth,
like wrinkles in
freshly laundered
sheets.

i have held the hands of
so many children.
weak,
strong,
distanced & wrong.
victims
of. us.

i have reached into the sun
and felt it's warm
belly.
i have lain my troubles down.
cast them out in a burial movement.
at sea. over valleys.
the corners of someone's mind.

i have moved
beyond past pain,
and nestled into my
present future.
shook out,
pressed up,
brought down,
by...
who?
by you.
and your memory,
emblazoned here in this place,
etched into my face.
into
my heart.

i have flown about the crests of waves.
and nestled into the dark
coldness
of
caves.
this here.
this earth is my home.

i have lived as much
as some could even hope
to.
the one thing gone from it all,
is you.

Jason Christopher Johnson

Recognition...

A few times...
Once at a shopping mall,
a grocery store,
the line at the dry cleaners.
I wondered about my look,
Did I stare, should I look meaner?
Realization,
That there was something here,
something so very far
and somehow so near.
Someway.

A phone call...
Husky voiced with
sleeping breath in the middle of
a summernight.
Hot and bothered,
Like the southern
August air.
Whispered into hushes,
and hang ups,
and...
dial tones.

Misread texts....
And emails,
and all things
not solidified with pen.
Traces of her,
and me,
and y'all,
and we.

Across a parking lot...
Inside an elevator...
In a coffee shop.
We've never met.
Inside, I felt I knew...
She,
she did too...
Our hearts annouced
That our connection
is you.

Jason Christopher Johnson
January 14, 2011

The List...

I've no bitter spirit
No hardened heart,
Or nose turned down on you.
I've no hold on your dreams
Or doubt for your means.
I've no salve for my own wounds.

I have a closet full of my life
In a house full of your's.
I have crisp sheets that you've
Planted your softness into.
I've no trust for me
Around you.
I've no hope for this love.

I have want for it's end.
I've no concerns for moving on,
But worry for when.

Jason Christopher Johnson
December 27, 2010