The Automobile — Paul McCormick

Your idée fixe with the pinnatifid penny cress subluxates what once was
straight and true
. Long hours, Guido da Vigevano stoops in the Kneeland
Prairie. His mustache grows thin. Some people have a mind for the Dow,
others know shoes; I was born with good hands
. The osteopath tunes V’s
midrib down a half-step. In Flanders, the lowland winds color the prisons
wheat. Land bridges kiss and retreat. 1335. Phillip VI thumbs a tiny folio.
In it, V has sketched a large sail. Unyoke the brobdingnagians, this shall
carry you through

typo magazine — issue three