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.