Dmytro Lazutkin

today's means of communication
lets us learn
the worst
sooner

I can't hear anything
but björk björk

and our total multi-vectorism
becomes local bipolarity
because walking on fire
is easier than breathing fire
because loving you
is almost like being in love
because with replacement joints
satisfaction is guaranteed

you see
life's monkey strokes impatient fingers
with his cold tongue
and every cloud
clings to another
just so
trains leave on time
only to return . . .

you know? — but you definitely don't know
right? — but surely the truth is not that pleasant

trains really do leave on time
but somehow we're always late

I can't hear anything
speak slowly
...

conscience ― a last dinosaur
freezes on the edge of Sumy oblast

if you want we can go
if you want we can hang a "do not disturb" sign
I like it when
your neck-shoulders-thighs
get covered with bite marks

I love you so much
I can't kiss you

I'm too far from the stars
besides
the switch is also out of reach

beautiful wise strange
involved with a neurasthenic

it happens —
you want to start with a clean slate
but end up coming —
onto dirty sheets
...

you're secretly learning a dead language
could be for naught
but then again

your eyes are blinded by snow

my dwelling is made of red clay

they say that at Christmas-time
you can walk on water
but that salvation isn't guaranteed

you're secretly learning a dead language
it's coming along slowly
a few sound clusters stir
ready to be exhaled

you understand everything
but you're tired
there's no rhyme in our glances
we part
as always —

don't forget to turn off the light
water the plants

you old viper
...

right now
while paper airplanes
still find refuge among burdened treetops
it's hardest to sense resistance
when squeezing autumn in your hand
like a crumpled yellow train ticket
with the name of a city
where you'll return some day anyway

and clamorous kids
chase birds from their well-worn places
into the cracked border air
which sticks to the wings
changing the direction of movement
and sharpening the sense of height

we touch encoded keys
we forget the meaning of words
blindly treading
through tunnels of related sounds
somehow intruded upon with irruptions
spectres of night cars
and occasionally
the spirits of homeless dogs

ignoring the laws of motion
or for that matter any of our rules

and the hopeless nevers
and the untroubled forevers
and breaths into a telephone's membrane
trembling from a chilling despair
somehow invariably recalled
when you reset your watch again
or change time altogether
...

Strolling alone along a southern sea
you stumble upon forsaken flags and rose petals yellowed

paradisal ventilators
disperse the cold air
leaving stillness

my war has been concluded
my heart rests beneath the pines

my birds hover above the waves
not knowing where to land

so much freedom
all around
so much freedom
...

something is different
toss a stone into the aquarium
the fish barely quiver
dreams don't arrive
it's cold to live as a reflection beneath the moon
lovingly we heal the sense of guilt

night fills the window with little blue leaves
butterflies play dead on the water . . .
to kiss drunkenly
to choke on despair
over-ripened apples pummel our heads

this moment - a melody
torn off like clothes
snatched by nervous fingers . . .
a wheel? a wing?
a coiled heap a pause for your faithful
shot into the abyss
as if it never existed
...

spring squashes the first insect

and the street smells of cucumber juice
when you stop
at winds' crossing
under a red light

and there's no chance
no hope
and hundreds of cell phone explosions —
name that tune
come up with a tune
know your own . . .

I can't hear anything
I can't hear anything at all

your airships of red clay
like pills tossed
into a dampened chalice of space

your dentist's tools
play amongst themselves in their free time

and emergency instructions
constantly repeat —
you must adapt
to any situation
you must adapt

spring has killed an insect
I've seen worse monstrosities
...