Do I Make You Uncomfortable?

eleven.

Salty slave from northern seas

I rise up from the spray

In scathing and obtuse lines

Indeterminate praise to a home-made

Viking shrine

But I am a silly little girl

A starved and aging Lolita

(Have I got it straight?)

With peppermint swirled and crazed

Cheshire Cat eyes

(Is this a melodramatic enough guise

For your subtle superiority, your whitewashed room

To be amused?)

(Does my strangeness confuse...not yet?)

I will walk then, into the desert

Draw on my forehead a line of ash

Dragging in my runaway sack

A witch's brew to lure you soon after

That I might appear 

As a would-be tantalizing mirage --

(That's what I do isn't it? That's what I want?)

Should I make you uncomfortably

Squirm in your chair

Inching from my mad dog stare

With oceans foaming at my black lips

Bared Fido fangs to tear

Out of you the parts that are strong

And burn them

(Have I got it right?)

Do you see yet the whites of my eyes

And the flash of my teeth

In the dead of the night?

But wait, 

My bonfire games have charred your intellect

Best take it home to polish

With your smooth, deserved

Ivy league shoes

While I run off to abuse

Daddy's money, Daddy's shiny cars

(That's what I do isn't it?)