I am alone inside
my goggles. I am
blinking? Lately
things here have been
like a nose job gone
so very wrong. We
have something
in common said
the heartless bitch,
figuratively stuffing
a dead 3rd husband
into the trunk of
their immaculate
Jaguar. Somehow
a slight breeze
inside my goggles—
& brass temple bells
being polished at
the temple, some
Osaka girls with
power buffers
stretching, reaching…
Everything just so
for a bell that
will never be struck.
Remarkable calves,
I bet, detained
in durable cotton duck.