by Nate Maxson
So how do old men die so young?
What objects carry them down the river?
Don’t ask me, I’m neither here nor there
Ghosting the borderlands
The “Just Married” sign rusted into a Volkswagen in an old photograph
The space between those white bordered instant Kodaks going extinct, that’s the borderlands
Everyone used to be so happy, is the general idea of these mandatory reflections
That’s what they keep telling me
I don’t remember
There was no wind
I know how they did it
When you weren’t looking
Time stops as soon as you look
Then you can hear the Astroturf churning
Nate Maxson is a writer and performance artist. The author of several collections of poetry, he lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.