Right, Write.

This is something to write about for someone who will read it.
[Chris Johnson's writing journal]

Featured  C/V  Contact  
Ask me, ask me, ask me...

Seconds Before Rain

I wonder why people take black and white photographs
when the picture captures enough ghosts already.

I wonder why you laugh after you jump at the sound of thunder
when you know the worst has yet to come.

I wonder why we kiss
when we know we’re leaving.


On the spectacularly normal day
when it takes me an hour to read thirty pages
of that book I should have finished last week,
when the KD turns out just right,
when the grey sky makes me feel lazy
and sleepy after sleeping in,
when Giant Tiger has exactly nothing I need,
when I hear from a few friends
who forgot to text me back last night,
I will tell myself that nothing is necessarily wrong,
and I will tell myself that everything is still new.

Jam Jar

A chance under
hot water,
a chance with the tea towel
twisting for traction.

A chance for
you to open up a little,

sleeping with
your head in the refrigerator
so I’ll know where you’ll be.

A chance
these aren’t even
the preserves I need.

She’s a jar:
not quite the enemy I’m looking for,
but you could open up a little bit.

If This, Then This

If you left the room first,
then I stayed standing where you last hugged me.
If I stayed standing where you last hugged me,
then fluorescent lights didn’t cast my shadow awkwardly.
If fluorescent lights didn’t cast my shadow awkwardly,
then I felt alone in that room.
If I felt alone in that room,
then it was not because you left the room first.

Walking in the Rain and Listening to Grace

like everything is the way it was yesterday.
Some days you have to believe in pathetic fallacy.

Reasonable Advice

It might be a way outside.
It might be a door.
It might just be the deep breath you’ve been waiting for.
It might be the first drink on the house.
It might just be looking good.
It might be a fake door.
It might be one of those brick walls painted like a door.
It might trick the coyote.
It might be my last chance to purchase from Acme.
It might be failure-prone.
It might just be the failure we need.
It might be an end.
It might just end.

Little Successes

Charlotte’s really hoping that I know what I’m doing.
The weather’s been better for a while,

just show me some road lines pointing off to a vantage
and I’ll start walking.

Darling, this is the last time I’ll call you darling.
If I smiled when you smiled, would you smile?

Step outside in the sun and see
there’s a whole sidewalk for the taking.

The best thing about you is that you’ll sleep while I’m working.
Whisper, “don’t wait up,” and come to bed.

Last Fight

You pitched for
a walk in the outdoors.

In due course,
we stepped out the front door.

Hooking-Up and Housesitting

Exploring other people’s bookshelves is a pastime
that never gets enough time.
These friends have dictionaries because
they’re translators, but why Anne Rice?

The way I tend to see it,
you have a tendency of fucking up,
but let’s avoid placing blame.
Chalk everything up to the universe out to get us.

Don’t take off your clothes; I’m perusing,
and just got to S. No Shakespeare.
That’s funny. You could care less. You said that once.
I didn’t correct you. The shelves aren’t alphabetical. 

NPM #4 

Followers’ Cento

This is the only time I’ll
essentialize, ever: 

I used to have a dating video blog
but now I just have this:

here is your shirt with no one in it:


there is a person
—spewing, flailing—
dangerously going about: 

the gamut of Hollywood gossip,
firearm enthusiasm,
modern housekeeping tactics,
and spread-eagled pornography:

It still makes me shiver when I read about your sex life:

I spill mine on the man
under the park bench:


“Guess who is back!”
after a tactical 

(I’m not tact- 


JJ (again)

More Information