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 !