fear of death and fraying threads

walden freeman

the great legends of yesteryear are promoting themselves again on posters with wrinkled edges to add to the nostalgia ever-present in young women's bedrooms. called into war with burned clothes and iron claws opening a pandora's box of cans of worms on unsuspecting victims and villains. a trifecta of tribunals, tribulations, and tributaries that make us all miss home. swaying trees stand in vain as tropical depressions and economic trouble melt the fiberglass fingertips hooked onto our neighborhood's roofs like a photo finish we never got started on. cactus quills puncture but do not satisfy our addictions and plastic cans of gag snakes explode in our faces with god looking down proud and yet still pounding his fists. "nice pokerface," we'll say, knowing full well that deep down god cares only about himself and cars crash repeatedly. i have learned my lesson, how about yourselves? the wheatfield of kansas are inspected by gladiators and elevators like ovens bring our temperatures up and the shitty music doesn't help. the great legends of yesteryear are promoting war and we're all about following.