Hot Creep

Another decomposing train;
You can detail the connections to the bone.
Working with this stone cold feeling,
Stove top pilot burning
dulled blue and overgrown.

We stand under the correctional downpour.
Heat lightening radiates.
You look like a hot creep all dripping like that
Standing there as the evening indicates.

I am slicked in your old coat
hand blown with enthusiasm
brought back to life from memories
re-found in the pocket,
conceived by light.

Ribbits let loose on the rocks
Telepathic currents in a small islet.
A breath and then another,
sweet radiance
Tried to unwrap it, but couldn't.

The match scratch echoes in the halls
of restless beginnings
and the pilot light rages
as beacons burn.

© 19-Jan-2010 Sonja J. Johnston

The Dream Narrator

The dream narrator
jumps in after I've confronted a spectator.

Boldly and suddenly there is a pronouncement
of where I am and who I am speaking with.


The narrator speaks as a teacher.


Then there is a pop,
like fire in glass.

I continue to laugh like
this is some sort of divine joke,
but I'm simply told that I need
to take this seriously.

This world I continue
to terrain is not just
a place in which to juggle
until the sky escapes me.

I wonder, what does it matter
that I am an entrant,
playing with the elements
of this narrated truth.

It's still quite impossible to get
others to follow me up the mountain where
I have seen the immaculate beauty of the
stone flowers.

© Jan 2010 Sonja J. Johnston