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Track our helpless gel manicures
                                       our antler headlamps.

We’re hoodlums, log-cabined, obsessed with our cysts.
             We dream in sands and clowns
                                                        won’t conform to your cycle.
              Track suicide seek                      our carp eggs
              fat thighs and cellulite beads.

    We’re still early, unfollowed. We won’t attend mass
keep stepping on hot plugs                 cannot stand the gaffe               of being loved.

      Your midwife pierced us                              at our brim like gypsies
                                      the clouds of the father/our mom couldn’t watch.

We hate how you waste
                               our days on the rusty net
obvious fire escape. You’re disaster en masse.
              what we can’t have                     on the red cherry bumpers.
                          You’re the gold butter ring in our soup

when we sleep too long                    curved fat and useless
      when we get too greedy                  want to shape
                blue + brown                                      toothpick tents
                         for our Girl Scouts.                   Delicious.
      Our French nails are shaky
             our faces too big.
                                                               The June moon is brass.
                                                               Our snatches nip.





You’d think it was playtime
              the way we went wrong
but it’s one of those wolf and
              dog days, freestyle. 

                                        We railroad
the playground. We dance
             in capes         how’s that for appetite?
boys sucking our thongs.

          God wears a poodle skirt         w/bullet sequins
                  the owl’s in the closet
a hole in the cloud’s parataxis, sour underboob fat.

They say we have talent         so what?
                                        the poem turns
we climb out of the batting cage
       into the church        
                                      rabid, we foam
    over the yellow Jeep tracker

how we’d hold back traffic
    outside the middle school blacklight dance
             how we’d rinse our feet
in the bath unpoetic
                                       our homes built of stones
            from the burnt-down orphanage.
            We’d house happy ghosts
who’d sign our white t-shirts
            who’d say our cravings

    pass in 10 minutes
              but we want to prick             that newscaster, Violet

                                        ex-Bluebird Scout
                                        right in her multiplex head.






We want to succeed in our cheerleader’s bedroom
              with peaches and perverts and pennants.
    We want to move            between teenage wastelands
learn how to fuck          in this epidemic.
              Can you see how we bleed
all over the Sweet Secret Jewelry Box House
all over the wedding-cake-shaped generator?

    We’ve had our fever: the dark haunted maze
    in our old swollen high school.
    We’ve ambled. We’ve lumbered.

  We are royal babies. Our forecast is poor.
We wear green mascara where grey graves
are one-size-fits-all.
      We agree to this fiction    to live high emotion
but we’re lost and sore.     It’s a problem of logic
    inside the old drama. The big crystal cross
wears a blue tutu. We’re fueless, don’t feel
  like going for a jog.

                                     Did you see us lurking
                                     in the church doorway
                                     in our velvet skirts?

                           We speak poorly of you, boning like dogs
                           know all could hold true    in your similar universe
                           if we’d break the walls.




Jessie Janeshek.JPG


Jessie Janeshek's chapbooks Spanish Donkey/Pear of Anguish and Rah-Rah Nostalgia are forthcoming from Grey Book Press and dancing girl press respectively. Her full-length collection of poems is Invisible Mink (Iris Press, 2010). An Assistant Professor of English and the Director of Writing at Bethany College, she holds a Ph.D. from the University of Tennessee-Knoxville and an M.F.A. from Emerson College. She co-edited the literary anthology Outscape: Writings on Fences and Frontiers (KWG Press, 2008). You can read more of her poetry at jessiejaneshek.net