the machine

the machine whirssputtering, incandescentits pulleys and levers,its diodes and dials,its meters and gaugesread, work, and movewith an uncanny precisionoccasionally a shudderor terrible groanmight throw its rhythmand soon thereaftera foghorn will sound—indication of themachine's arrestso in its stuttering blissits abstruse naturemight be met withthe smack of a palmor the taste of steel-toeonly to cough...