Could you make suggestions for the improvement of this poem?

This is the third time I have tried to answer your poem Andy, before losing all the text in cyberspace. I googled the lyrics of Neil Young's song. They weren't that easy to understand, but I took it to be about fame and what it does to the ego and soul.I noted the reference to plaster and disaster. So your mind wandered as you listened and I wonder whether you brought Neil Young's fan into your own art or whether the girl was someone else. For all her talent and poise you wrote about, she was even better at deception. An unhappy ending.

I couldn't possibly make suggestions for improvement, I was kept far too busy trying to find a meaning inside your tongue in cheek poem. I'm not sure I got one, but sometimes when we are on a poetry path we can get lost.

I always enjoy reading your work and trying to unravel it, a bit like dropping a stitch when knitting and trying to avoid a disaster

Edit 7 by me

Mister Young

I got up off the ground

without making a sound

when I finally found the disaster

While unbending my knees

caught my hair in the breeze

in one hundred degrees melting plaster

Watching girls of the world

raising dresses unfurled

while the questions were hurled so much faster

I was writing a play

on a sweet summer day

to her own known dismay; so I cast her

She took talent and poise

from her suitcase of toys

said the mirror enjoys her reflection

Keeping up with the styles

weeping under her smiles

leaping over the piles of rejection

We clacked day after night

and came close to a fight

hoping she would invite me to her direction

But she took all the fame

even blew out my flame

she was playing the game of deception

This is a super amazing poem. I like it! Keep up the great work.

Some of the end lines are a bit confusing:

to her own known dismay so I cast her

and,

hoping she would invite my direction

The latter one I would say,

hoping she would invite misdirection

Only because I don't know what yours means.

My jokey brain rewrote the first one as

to her home grown dismay, my Jocasta

But that is not a serious suggestion, just what my brain does when it reads gibberish. Gibberish in, gibberish out. Generally an amazing poem though, as yours usually are.