Maybe I shouldn’t talk about the 20th century any more, maybe it’s all in the past but if it’s in the past then it’s possible that I, having been born as it ended, never stood a chance and am still in the past
Still expecting a happy ending though the only place that happens nowadays is in shady massage parlors, our happy ending is the moment one machine rams full speed into another
Hindenbergs in time like icebergs in the Mississippi river, all in time: the coastlines shriveling so I see Debussy’s ship escaping into the gray havens (one of the few fictional promises I can understand perhaps due to its inherent bitterness) never to touch an instrument (navigational or otherwise) again
Nate Maxson is a writer and performance artist. He is the author of several collections of poetry, most recently “The Age Of Jive” from Red Dashboard Press. He lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.