<div class="line">When Midas went to the beach</div>
<div class="line">everyone in his kingdom was nervous.</div>
<div class="line">They liked the foot-shaped patches of golden sand,</div>
<div class="line">scooped up like cattle patties,</div>
<div class="line">and they were used to the nimble ruckus</div>
<div class="line">of the entourage, staying somewhat close</div>
<div class="line">but avoiding the bump. Their fear was for the sea,</div>
<div class="line">for his first step, for the yellow muck hardening</div>
<div class="line">around his ankles like it did in his brief Saturday night baths.</div>
<div class="line">They would rescue him, of course, if the water trapped his feet—</div>
<div class="line">throw him chains which they would later add to the treasury</div>
<div class="line">once he’d grabbed them and been dragged</div>
<div class="line">over the sharp, concreted waves.</div>
<div class="line">It was a matter of some speculation for them,</div>
<div class="line">but as he stared across the water,</div>
<div class="line">their anxiety rose, and they muttered</div>
<div class="line">about the loss of the fishing industry,</div>
<div class="line">imagining the blue sea becoming gold.</div>
<div class="line">It was the philosopher’s punishment, anyway:</div>
<div class="line">He’d been estranged with his daughter</div>
<div class="line">long before he’d hugged her to death. Like everything</div>
<div class="line">else in his kingdom, she’d become an object</div>
<div class="line">of evaluation. Even the words he used to describe things</div>
<div class="line">were like little boxes of confinement, little rocks</div>
<div class="line">he threw at the moon, separating him further,</div>
<div class="line">bringing him pieces, lodestones. And the guilt</div>
<div class="line">of his isolation—he’d sworn off concubines,</div>
<div class="line">it was that look in their far-off eyes, the crackling realization</div>
<div class="line">reaching their minds that they’d been bought,</div>
<div class="line">while he caressed the distant, perfect object in his hands.</div>
<div class="line">He went often to the beach and stared like other people do</div>
<div class="line">at the meditation before him.</div>
<div class="line">The sun’s long dangling finger across the water,</div>
<div class="line">the honeyed line, shimmering like a zipper</div>
<div class="line">on what he was coming to understand about it:</div>
<div class="line">one conclusion, or another, here a god, there a god,</div>
<div class="line">everywhere a god-god—he was aloofness itself,</div>
<div class="line">and by that held the upper hand, the sponge,</div>
<div class="line">squeezing it while soapy runs splattered</div>
<div class="line">into gold chaos on the gray rocks; the servants</div>
<div class="line">scrambled, able but wary, picking up his treasured flotsam.</div>
<div class="line">Age made it worse. Aloha girls waved,</div>
<div class="line">ever receding, their swaying hips</div>
<div class="line">making the horizon like the hem of a grass skirt.</div>
<div class="line">At least there was the gold. And he was the king,</div>
<div class="line">king of the homunculus, giver of sciences,</div>
<div class="line">wolfing down salad leaves before they lodged</div>
<div class="line">in the back of his throat, cutting off fingernails,</div>
<div class="line">letting them fall with a shrill clatter</div>
<div class="line">onto the smooth golden floor which mirrored his feet.</div>
<div class="line">He would cough, and wonder if his spray of golden spittle</div>
<div class="line">would ignite the air into golden brightness</div>
<div class="line">and make him fall with the last tinkling music</div>
<div class="line">into the consummated, unabdicated otherness.</div>


In the House of God

At the Dog Track

Midas on the Beach

<div class="line">Stairs that never stop going down,</div>
<div class="line">concrete steps, concrete walls:</div>
<div class="line">down twelve, turn right, down twelve more,</div>
<div class="line">fluorescent bulbs humming on every landing—</div>
<div class="line">you can look between metal railings</div>
<div class="line">and see down into the vanishing point. It&#8217;s creepy</div>
<div class="line">because it&#8217;s so bland, because it is so otherwise</div>
<div class="line">plausible. There are little clusters of tourists</div>
<div class="line">and townsfolk, walking up and down,</div>
<div class="line">murmuring their speculations. The municipality</div>
<div class="line">has stationed a few policemen in the upper stories,</div>
<div class="line">after that it&#8217;s the wilderness of young men</div>
<div class="line">who aren&#8217;t huffing, or letting their better judgments</div>
<div class="line">hold them back. Some pack a lunch,</div>
<div class="line">see how far they can go. A few loners</div>
<div class="line">have gone for days, or longer, obsessed, and come back</div>
<div class="line">with critical perspectives on prior stories brought up,</div>
<div class="line">arguing against them, bringing rumors of their own,</div>
<div class="line">rumors of the lights shifting imperceptibly,</div>
<div class="line">of ambiguous odors, of vast ballrooms</div>
<div class="line">and wide open spaces, of small villages</div>
<div class="line">with picnic areas, of hot steamy dioramas of hell,</div>
<div class="line">strange animals, grotesque and sublime,</div>
<div class="line">of a rapture that some theorize is the bends</div>
<div class="line">but they swear is as real as the bright pounding light</div>
<div class="line">that fills everything down that deep, where</div>
<div class="line">the stairs are made of light, the walls a glow</div>
<div class="line">you can&#8217;t quite touch—this is weeks down,</div>
<div class="line">beyond some rapture or rupture point,</div>
<div class="line">beyond some point from which they never</div>
<div class="line">really come all the way back.</div><figure class="wp-block-audio"><audio controls src="https://admin.rattle.com/audio/JohnsonStairs.mp3"></audio></figure>

Elegy Beginning on a Line by Ross Gay

You Must Never Ignore Self

Stairs Appear in a Hole Outside of Town

<p class="epil"><i>for Mike Allen</i></p>
<div class="line">1:1</div>
<div class="line">Feeding on the living is good,</div>
<div class="line1">but feeding on the dead is better.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:2</div>
<div class="line">Nestle your offspring in the rancid.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:3</div>
<div class="line">The air is heavy; let it work for you,</div>
<div class="line1">but fly only until you find beauty.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:4</div>
<div class="line">Shit is beautiful.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:5</div>
<div class="line">Rub your hands together before you eat.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:6</div>
<div class="line">If you land on the wrist that holds the swatter,</div>
<div class="line1">consider yourself lucky, not clever.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:7</div>
<div class="line">Remain humble, if you think of anything.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:8</div>
<div class="line">You only have a few days;</div>
<div class="line1">stay simple.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">1:9</div>
<div class="line">Breed when you are able.</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">2:1</div>
<div class="line">And when you are licked</div>
<div class="line1">by the frog’s tongue,</div>
<div class="line">or swallowed by a songbird,</div>
<div class="line">or felled in a cloud of nerve gas</div>
<div class="line1">and lie twitching, unconcerned,</div>
<div> </div>
<div class="line">2:2</div>
<div class="line">know that it is the honor of a fly,</div>
<div class="line1">it is its purpose,</div>
<div class="line2">to die.</div>
<div> </div><figure class="wp-block-audio"><audio controls src="https://admin.rattle.com/audio/JohnsonFly.mp3"></audio></figure>

The Optimist

Shards, Storms, Smoke, and Sprouts

The Book of Fly

<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains1.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains1s.jpg" alt="Soft Rains #1" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains2.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains2s.jpg" alt="Soft Rains #2" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains3.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains3s.jpg" alt="Soft Rains #3" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains4.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains4s.jpg" alt="Soft Rains #4" /></a></p>
<p align="center">[download in full resolution: <a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains1.jpg">1</a>, <a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains2.jpg">2</a>, <a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains3.jpg">3</a>, <a href="https://admin.rattle.com/rattle45/JohnsonRains4.jpg">4</a>]</p><figure class="wp-block-audio"><audio controls src="https://admin.rattle.com/audio/JohnsonRains.mp3"></audio></figure>

Time

Five Types of Confidence

There Have Come Soft Rains

<div class="line">In kindergarten during the Cold War,</div>
<div class="line">mid-day late bells jolted us,</div>
<div class="line">sending us single file into the hallway,</div>
<div class="line">where we sat, pressing our heads</div>
<div class="line">between our knees, waiting.</div>
<div></div>
<div class="line">During one of the bomb drills,</div>
<div class="line">Annette was standing.</div>
<div class="line">My mother said I would talk on and on</div>
<div class="line">about her, about how pretty she was.</div>
<div class="line">I still remember her that day,</div>
<div class="line">curly hair and pretty dress,</div>
<div class="line">looking perturbed the way</div>
<div class="line">little children do.</div>
<div class="line">Why, Annette? There’s nothing</div>
<div class="line">to be upset about—</div>
<div class="line">The bombs won’t get us,</div>
<div class="line">I’ve seen what’s to come—</div>
<div class="line">it is the days, the steady</div>
<div class="line">pounding of days, like gentle rain,</div>
<div class="line">that will be our undoing.</div>


Dear Grandma

At the Communion Rail

<h1 align="center"><em>A Graphic Poem</em></h1>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs1.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs1s.jpg" alt="Stairs Appear #1" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs2.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs2s.jpg" alt="Stairs Appear #2" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs3.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs3s.jpg" alt="Stairs Appear #3" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><a href="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs4.jpg"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs4s.jpg" alt="Stairs Appear #4" /></a></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><img decoding="async" class="aligncenter" src="https://admin.rattle.com/images/JohnsonStairs5s.jpg" alt="Stairs Appear #5" /></p><figure class="wp-block-audio"><audio controls src="https://admin.rattle.com/audio/JohnsonStairs.mp3"></audio></figure>

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November 1, 2014Stairs Appear in a Hole Outside of TownJohn Philip Johnson, Julian Peters

A Graphic Poem

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November 1, 2014Stairs Appear in a Hole Outside of TownJohn Philip Johnson, Julian Peters

A Graphic Poem

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Midas on the Beach by John Philip Johnson

Stairs Appear in a Hole Outside of Town by John Philip Johnson

The Book of Fly by John Philip Johnson

There Have Come Soft Rains by John Philip Johnson