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

M E M Y E C U RT I S T U C K E R Chipped Tooth My tongue knows every inch of where it lives— that animal, going round and round in its prison, checking the stones. It will worry this chip for days, rubbing, pushing. I throw in food, quiet it for a while, then it begins to lumber around in the dark. It wants things right, smooth, always the same. There is nothing I can do, tongue, for the tiny scar that keeps you awake all day. Everything grows old, has accidents— someday, tongue, even you. Rest while you can, warm in your cave. The 1980s ❚ 129 ...

Share