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Making Myths

Joshua Young

word is those punks who wailed on that ave

rat disappeared during ss decontrol’s set, &

not even their names stayed, like poof, like

their parent’s don’t even remember them, like

they can’t even be ghosts, like the boston

crew found out they were into booze & drugs,

pulverized them into the wood, like they ain’t

even atoms, like m says, this’ll be just another

thing we’ll shrug about when people ask, in ripper

dys talks about it, says, everyone was diving, creepy-

crawlin’, slammin’, & piling on. next thing, these

fuckers were gone. we worked them into history.

Two Scenes

Joshua Young

i can feel the pressure on my shoulder, as his

hands inspect me for weapons. i don’t carry.

violence is the refuge of the weak, unless it’s

necessary, or at least that’s what m says.

someone says, you pigs—rubber band straps &

we’ve got the whole thing going again, look at

how cars slow, wait, do you know what it’s

like to watch traffic from a balcony? look at

the what joggers swarm the lake trail in spring,

the sun fills every crease out there, & people

keep talking about how much they love the mariners.



i can feel the pressure on my shoulder, his

foot is there, pressing, & when the breakdown

clatters through, he pushes off, back into the

crowd, still chugging through the progression.

studs & black belts we don’t wear, but the

kids have wrapped them around their waists

& wrists, & we’ve got the whole thing going

again, look at how the older swerve from

where we stand, wait, do you know what it’s

like to tuck yourself into a vans? do you know

what it’s like to keep duct-taping what you

own till the duct-tape won’t hold? look at

what the highway patrol stops every time &

people keep talking about how the road is

hard to stay on.