Soul Fountain

Magic and in concert with you replenish as I dip I was walking through Chinatown the other day, down by the Bowery, and I stopped on a corner, at Avenue of the Strongest. I saw an espresso bar across the ...
Read More

Missing Feeding of the Birds (V3) By Michael Lee Johnson Keeping my daily journal diary short these sweet bird sounds lost- reviews January through March. Joy a dig deep snow on top of my sorrows. Skinny naked bones sparrows these ...
Read More

The Drifting-Bys I am the boy you almost lost to a stretch of long black distance found luckily, by love stronger, than time and space and procrastination & now in that love I drown I float, drift, swim and drown ...
Read More

Homelanding Having nothing better to do, I kill Time by looking at a traditional Chinese painting on my iPad Much enlarged, it appears like A plain sheet of rice paper Smeared with ink. I view it In the presence of ...
Read More

THE ESTHETICS OF SELF Against the horizon, you must always consider three skies: the one you see, the one you think about, and the one that's really there. Our illusions falter on an edge we prefer to imagine, a definition ...
Read More

GO BE HAPPY Go be happy. Smile for the camera. Keep moving. Sing and dance like Cab Calloway. Hold his hand and kiss his neck. Buy art deco furniture together. Make sure your shoes match your outfit. Cry with joy ...
Read More

I Have Not Forgotten Fancy Prologue: "Talk about the devil  And show me the angel, Fancy Who doesn't need an anvil  To forge or hammer his fallacies" Chapter One: forgive me; I'm unworthy to lace your fancy shoes, I'm unworthy ...
Read More

The Fern these are days; people with nothing to do doing nothing. people with things to do doing those things. the sun out, loud and shining, like a child screaming at a dropped ice-cream, but weak enough to freeze you ...
Read More

Full Moo It sure is a full moo tonight winked the farmer to the cow, squeezing each teat gently firmly, into the pail ...
Read More

Dance of Tears, Chief Nobody (V5) By Michael Lee Johnson I’m old Indian chief story plastered on white scattered sheets, Caucasian paper blowing in yesterday’s winds.   I feel white man’s presence in my blindness- cross over my ego my ...
Read More