In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

55 Vintage Clock It’s making a wet grinding noise as if someone had forced an extra gear through its glass mouth & deep into the works & now, useless, unplugged, Futura numerals & sage green metal frame (childhood chic), tells lies all day save twice—one second truths. You stood two feet when you & it were new, moving hands & circled teeth hummed soft high up the kitchen wall & grandma walloped dough in mists of flour, tarts appearing on steel wire racks, mini-pies for cherubs. It’s tough to kill a thing that’s lugged so much time into the present, but what can you do? No one fixes anything anymore, even if you could find parts. Besides, that grinding— presumptuous machine, mocking our death rattle, rubbing it in— go on, shoot it in the face. ...

Share