Hey guys, if you've seen the myth of the motel (posted previously this week: http://austinnewblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/myth-of-motel.html), the improv piece I did about John Johnson, the dead founder of the Boho Cocos, then you'll remember the mention of his lost poems. Well, they're lost no longer. I've found them. I've got them. And for your pleasure and purveyance, I will post them from time to time to snap your head around. I decided to call them the lost poems of John Johnson, but, I don't know, he was a weird guy. They're numbered similarly, but with slight variations (and some even have titles, but we'll leave those for later). I don't know, I can't really explain the guy, he just inspired us fellow Cocos, and now we've got some of his work to inspire you. Well, here goes fellows, two poems I recently found in a secret hiding spot. The work of John Johnson, dead legend, quiet ghost.
the lost poems of John Johnson 6…
strawberries
under the bed
we
make love
and it is the melody
of a blind
man
raging on and on
with
black marker
across blank subway
walls.
girl,
get thee gone,
take me with you,
cut
my hair.
the lost poems of John Johnson 7…
no sign of love
in your tears
welled
across a blank mirror.
you think of
Sunday
church yard razor
fathers
with old faces
akin to
broken beer mugs.
my girl has a rainbow.
Beatriz,
you shrink, you run,
the cars of the highway
are bold.
they want your
hide.
they want
to take you in their trunk and immolate
you.
1 comment:
i'm also into those things. care to give some advice?
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