Three Poems by Peter Marra

Her Hungry Eyes Make her so Appealing
 
she was the failed engine of the war-machine
but she became the better demon
 
she was the slick seductress of the linear accelerator
and her tongues slithered so gently on cool metal tubes
 
she was the crucifier of the oppressive patriarchal matrimony
that steered towards oppressive dehumanization
 
the ultimate dance of mystery had started
dangerous people were tonguing the subway windows
 
coveting feminine silhouettes breathing slowly softly
brazenly evaluating each orgasm for effectiveness
 
proselytizing the scourge of drug trafficking
 
all wrapped up and ready to go vividly blowing kisses
the slaves encased in leather had episodes of tight panic
 
they were just the receptacles
it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to
 
the Asian midget in the Nycmta uniform read from
a clipboard the names of stations on non-existent subway lines
 
the high nasal voice infected the passengers but
those who were encased in animal skins started to twitch
 
(cool it baby)
 
intimate diaries were extinguished
 
a privilege for hungry lips only
the background was composed of faded Ektachrome taped to the cracked plaster
 
the editors of pleasure reconstructed the sound of a
distant door closing accented by a heart-stabbing dull thud
 
she pulled her dress over her head to display the secret
markings etched in electricity the digital files were processed
 
(just don’t lay there)
 
 
wheezing bulb hard splintered flash
burnt air tumor-memories of the polaroid SX-70
 
violent after-smell
washed out billboards
recollections of distant serial killers
total radiation exposures
 
watch and participate in the back behind her in all directions
 
end of the line
 
in that area where the somnambulist paused to kiss each of
her breasts and buried each eye in a kaleidoscopic cervix
 
she submitted to the lips of chance and annihilated the touch of skin
 
gams a-quiver in pressurized time
 
she noticed that there was a flushed face on the other body
it was spasming and jerking a cock until a kiss on the cheek was received
 
thrilled by building recollections of destroyed families
they had started living inside forests of cracked glass one upon the other
 
on the Coney Island beach at 9 pm just as the sun kissed her goodbye
it all fell down again in mid-July
 
she smiled as she drew sigils in the wet sand using the tears she had gathered
red-designs of unknown origins were created to be gently washed away
 
when she had finished
she started once more
chanting the tunes of malocchio
 
“the dead are gone, the living must die.
i was busted by the hammer of
christianity, this nation has spit on us. america brought
us a subjugation.”
 
Sexy Sadie spoke her final word: “amen.”
 
when trapped by the joy of injustice and the lack of remorse structures frightened her
the sleepwalker had decided to no longer continue as a murder-weapon
 
dehumanization was seen in the act of love
 
a cleric passed by disappointed in the lack of fucking opportunities
no more victims as he wallowed in memories of past crimes
 
condensed desperation defined their lives
wandering on glass roads creeping
 
the naked corpse admitted victory
as limp figures became praying hands
 
gazing lovingly at targets
 
she was the failed engine of the war-machine
but she became the better demon
 
gazing longingly at targets





Midnight Tattle-tales:
A Diary of a Short Painful Hypnosis 
 
5 minutes in:
she was tired of her body
and the touch of humankind
a good time is nothing unless sexually taboo
conversational illustrations of people
adventurous under flayed dreams
quivering in the warm July breeze of a fallen nighttime
 
domesticated in the brain but not the heart
she had acquired sets of reactions
a blood curdling few seconds
squeezed herself into fantasies
with desires to leave the b0dy behind
visibly shaken by the circling predators
she knew she had fetishized herself but “that
was the point, wasn’t it?”
 
25 minutes in:
her body vibrated uncontrollably
vivid and entertaining 3 repair mechanisms;
she leaned out the window and whispered,
“i see you! i see you! peek-a-boo!”
3 persons viewed at the end of the block
 
they licked each other and then they spit on the pavement
before hiding under smoke and oil around the corner
next to the bodega next to the pelicula
trading 1 pain for another
in a bone deep ache joint fire sting
 
55 minutes in:
next to the film underneath a stage where
her secrets were whispered and not given away freely
going towards nude in the stop motion animation
 
$5 a peek-a-boo
a feature film
just die in CGI
 
“she’s got the good stuff. keeps it
deep down there.”
a lowered basket through a
 
hole in the ceiling. her friend got
sick. yellow puke-shot – white froth. coughed up
shit. oh. baby. go hide go
hide go. oh. baby. oh.
here’s his
head and some other body
parts: my mommy and
daddy nailed to a steel wall.
the jets scream above. shrill chemtrails
we’re beaten down.”
 
in a bone deep. ache.
joint fire sting
the taste of nettles
colored her eyes ebony and
outside in the front yard objects covered with fur
suffer internal bleeding spit up red
they talk to her
 
1 hour 10 minutes in:
skies broke into blue
provided illustrations
and she screamed at the
archive of torments
this light is too bright
 
[in between brackets
 
she sucked up the clouds]
 
now zero:
general mind/body interaction. 
in her moans were revealed the secret: she had changed from
shadow to substance
have it now,
tasting the fixation
followed by eyes closed
watch her
 
she says things back to them
 
just touch me
just fine





Pickup Alley (Girl of the Year)
(based on actual events in Show World, NYC 1980)


Or them.
 
Those bodies enjoyed the veneration of the insanely devout
It’s time to generate a performance under dark under sunlight in between
 
Want to be free of this shit (born under progressively rapid fire)
This was a platform for wild visuals whimpering at the exquisite hips,
pressing another face against forgotten wishes
 
even more heroes are cowards. These were the films that spoke.
 
She repeated herself. "I want you to use the strange
electricity conjured from within,
confident we will continue as 2 still lives.”
 
Just trying to promise the elimination of creative control
fingers were directing this first feature spotlighting tummies and thighs.
 
1st phase of a parallel divinity so she said, after cumming so far in fractured therapy
Chastised with the belladonna leather corset the bodies were electrified
 
She realized that this atmosphere had become so stimulating so deadly kiss me
Energized by mutual pain they hid in the dark doorways unable to talk
alert today for a dead tomorrow
 
she performed research with the human remains from Neolithic eras
fueled by cannabis and LSD darkness
 
she screamed not out of fear but as a result of tactile pleasures
she stared at the skull and felt herself breathing in a distant region looking back upon herself
 
robbed of her clothes by the random hands she smiled to herself
reborn she watched the crowds disappear
the intracranial fists were beating from sweet trepanation
 
“did you wish to cum?” she asked
She was greeted with quizzical stares
 
“I wished I was kissing me.
I put the car in drive and went back to see the
guys tied together, because the next thing I
knew it was finished.”
 
she speeded. lost in the moment
 
“suck on it. a real rush to see what it’s like.
a real bitch,” she stated for the record
 
beauty book such a bore
thrown back into her tortured faces without getting the heebie-jeebies
 
purpose none
 
Historian and philosopher of the dead,
tumbled backwards from the setting sun
 
Focusing her bleary eyes on my bleeding smiles she asked to hear my confession.
 
“The first bullet missed me,” I said.
“The second bullet went through my upper arm -  a clean shot. Still hurt like fuck.
 
Codeine was needed. A single stream of clouds passed in front of the moon, as unfocused as
your attention. I felt dizzy, so I sat down, leaned my back against the wall.
There was blood in the glasses of milk, no mothers were feeding.
 
I fashioned crippled Madonnas from these pieces of glass and those rusty nails gathered
at the shore. Inside each sculpture I left a black pearl for you. That’s why I did it. No.
That’s why I did it. Morphine was required.”
 
She sighed silently and said, “Afterwards, we gambled for his clothing.”
 
we moved around a drive-by shooting
crept in and when we were finished we were holding her firmly
pushing it twisted.
but she’s not mourning
the knife pierced through a Gideon bible flaccid on the nightstand.
A sound of almost bursting echoes
 
accused
accused
 
You now,
relaxing so easily,
happened all by itself. talked about it with you.
 
on the ceiling.
 
That’s the suggestion that was meant
 
just for her.
 
a relaxed state.
 
You can see you. We’re attached to it.
 
Or them.
 
Leave them grunting and filling her with need as she ran away,
as that smile that hid a wet real her.
She couldn’t get him hard.
Live sex show. He was ashen white. His blood on the peep show glass. Needle dangling
From vein.
It flopped around in her mouth.
 
Too too fuckin’ high.
Junk numbing crappy climaxes.
 
A neon vase contained a sublime pain.
Leather patchworks populated the skies. Or them.
 
                                          (the glass walls of the peepshow were cleaner than usual. i was on the
                                           outside, she had opened the door for a break so we could talk.
 
                                           i started first. “you like it in there?”
                                         “yes i do, i did my 2 bags up and all is fine. the viewers don’t matter:
                                           it’s very far away.”
 
                                          she had the somewhat thick voice of heroin that was simultaneously
                                          frightening and lust-ridden. she was dressed in a black leather corset.
                                          there was laser light trapped under her flesh.
 
                                          her eyes rolled back a little. her eyelids, clad in black, fluttered slightly,
                                          then she regained her composure. she laughed.
 
                                          “did you see that skag try to blow her boyfriend in the circle? he was so
                                           high his cock just flopped there. i stole his syringe later. came in useful.
                                           those patrons were ass-fucked. no show today.”
 
                                          she turned slightly and leaned into the booth. i saw a little puke shoot
                                          out. hardly any odor. only slight coloration. it was that clean effortless
                                          vomit that heroin gives us.)
 
Pain had the task of keeping us together. Created associations of cunt and loss.
9 notes relaxing.
 
evil energy continues perfect boyfriend/girlfriend
literal meaning is stupid.

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Bio: Peter Marra’s writings explore alienation, addiction, the functions and misuses of love, the curse of secrets, victimization and assorted obsessions. He has had over 200 poems published either in print or online in over 25 journals. His latest published work is approximate lovers (downtown materialaktion) published by Bone Orchard  Press. An e-chapbook,  peep-o-rama (Hammer and Anvil Books) is available as a Kindle Edition at Amazon. Peter has recently completed a new poetry collection Vanished Faces (a performance of occult infections) to be published in 2017 by Writing Knights Press.

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