mechanism · 02 · brass · transfer · loose
twelve small teeth, each one a syllable cut for another mouth. away from the machine it served, the cog is only a heavy coin: it cannot speak its own purpose, only carry the shape of it. the marks of its old companions are still on the flanks.
held in the hand it is warmer than expected, as if patience were a kind of stored heat. it once meshed with a smaller wheel that ran the clockworks in the east stair. what it now does is wait, with the dignity of a tool released from its ritual.
field-note · spin it on the bench: it ticks once for each tooth, twelve times in a row.
spring · typebar · clockworks · dynamo