16.5.16 (#135) Making a hash of it by Myron Lysenko

a helicopter hovers overhead

clouds part like an explosion
brains turn into bong water

curtains close doors lock

clouds part like an explosion

the radio tv & cd player all on

curtains close doors lock

it’s too late to leave too late

radio tv and cd player all loud
sirens over the top

it’s too late to leave too late

the phone rings keeps ringing

sirens over the top

the room fills with smoke

the phone rings keeps ringing

the lights are dimmed

the room fills with smoke

brains turn into bong water

the lights are dimmed
a helicopter hovers overhead

13.5.16 (#132) they sleep by Myron Lysenko

they sleep
like heavy traffic
their eyes fluttering

yellow leaves

like heavy traffic
hanging on

yellow leaves

in the corner
hanging on

trees dreaming

in the corner

in the yard

trees dreaming

their eyes fluttering

in the yard

they sleep

12.5.16 (#131) Gossip by Myron Lysenko

The rain ran off with the seedlings

and the sun came out for a look.

The wind spread gossip through paddocks,

fences no defence against those words.

The sun came out for a look

just like that lonely man on the edge of town;

fences no defence against these words.

Pine trees shrinking away from trucks.

Just like that lonely man on the edge of town
the sun disappeared behind the mountain.
Pine trees shrinking away from trucks.

The gate to the garden closes by itself.

The sun disappeared. Behind the mountain
an oak tree on the border was branching out.
The gate to the garden closes by itself,

a barn too small to hold so much guilt.

An oak tree on the border was branching out.

The wind spread gossip through the paddocks,

a barn too small to hold so much guilt

when rain ran off with the seedlings.

11.5.16 (#130) Where did my youth go by Myron Lysenko

Where did my youth go?

I was born too late.
My parents were disappointed

and I was disappointed

but I was born too late.

At school they called me names

and I was disappointed.

Sometimes I’d hit them.

At school they called me names.

I would target them for revenge;

sometimes I’d hit them

and sometimes I’d miss them.

I would target them. As revenge.

the teachers gave me detentions

and sometimes I’d miss them.
I’d bury my head in sound.

The teachers gave me detentions.

My parents were disappointed.

I’d bury my head in sound.

Where did my youth go?