Anticipation of Spring
by Howie Good
They take my shoelaces and belt away. On the wall is a clock without numbers or hands. The
pendulum moves slower and slower. Professional advice is slippery. Tears are slippery. I want to
slip out of this place to go to another where it never rains. Not just anyone can go. You need a
reason – the flat light, the still wind, the white sky like an empty canvas. There is some kind of
holiday there, too, that starts with grains of dust and ends with ox-eyed daisies.
Gyroscope Review 57
!