Craig Johnson
Bio
yes...it’s true, I am a liar.
Stories (28/0)
Arranging Deck Chairs
The water had come up past our waists. ‘Honey, I’m cold’. ‘So am I’. I hadn’t spoken in hours, she talked the whole time, but it was the first I felt like responding. We had to keep going. There was no other way down this mountain. She was a few feet behind me, struggling to push her weight thru the river that seemed like sand.
By Craig Johnson2 years ago in Fiction
Hold Your Breath
“My cheeks hurt from laughing’ reaching out the longer of her legs, drawing a pictograph in the sand with her toes. ‘let’s shave our heads and join a cult… want to?’ daring me. Her long legs stroke the sand like a brush, doting the eyes on her ancient drawings. Reproducing the cartoons, she loves so much found in French caves.
By Craig Johnson2 years ago in Fiction
Not Yet
sleep, eat, sit on my hands stand on my head.
By Craig Johnson3 years ago in Poets
Worst Case
As the fish drown and birds fly out past the atmosphere, we ignore the ugly and insincere nature of our Gods, and wait for better men to crawl thru the cracks, full of confidence and half courage, they find in fits of curse words and photos of their childhood dogs, they fall asleep but fail to rest, always waking to a deficit of character, noted boldly on calendars and by the scars that paint their bodies, refusing to allow them to relax.
By Craig Johnson3 years ago in Poets
