Girls Online

The first line is a row of girls,

twenty-five of them, almost

a painting, shoulders overlapping,

angled slightly toward you.

One says: I’m myself here.

The others shudder and laugh

through the ribbon core that strings

them. They make a tone tighter

by drumming on their thighs and

opening their mouths. The girls

are cells. The girls are a fence,

a fibrous network. One by one

they describe their grievances.

Large hot malfunctioning

machines lie obediently at their sides.

Their shirts are various shades

of ease in the surrounding air,

which is littered with small cuts.

One will choose you, press you

into the ground. You may never

recover. The second-to-last line

has a fold in it. The last line is

the steady pour of their names.