The Rearview Mirrors Have Begun to Wear

Alice the oblong goddess wraps herself in
                            Mardi Grad beads, red and blue sway from her arched back.

Arturo the side gaper ruminates
                            as the repairman rips duct tape from his face,

exposing cracks in his figure. The faults in his flesh cry out:
the future is flawless, the past fragmented.

                            He remembers how Alice replaced Slippery Sally
                            when an aversion to adhesive upset Sally’s functions.

He knows that time is not a friend
and death is akin to fractured love.

                            Again, she screams, again you look too close;
this is why you can never find answers. One cannot know how this all belongs.

And how, he cries as his remains are swept from the concrete floor.