poem: summer in the turn

rot-hot, cunt-turned girl in black leather — learn
Japanese! (it’s the chorus), turned heel into stage and shuddering
out again, a million men/girls jumping to her — chorus: learn
to speak, learn to sing, tear my heart, eat me up, come
alive, cometrails in sky — head thrown back, hair long and
shot up with light, shotgun shells of scattered
light — learn to speak, learn to sing; it’s a fairly tame song
but she, all marketing experts aside, is selling it: cut of
skinny pale waist, black stockings on
arms, hair swung around-around-around; the men
scream. And I — Cynthia! hard-cut, pre-calc, light is
glossy and strained on the window, Mr. A’s tinctured
and always dying aloe vera plants on the sill. His big broad
desk, covering visions; everyone has snapped heads
around to watch. Cynthia gulps, blushes: she feels suddenly
bloated and turned-inward, shallow gelatinous
face, she says I’m sorry what was the question?
light bleats out — future-girl winks, says, hey it’s
june in two weeks we’re young 4ever (all the normal
things), the summer stretches in front of u like
cocaine line wet tongue riot
phase — stick it out, delusion is beautiful and acceptable
and good for teenage late-may cave-ins.