Peter Marra – 2 POEMS

Kino Paradox, Beauty and a Camera
(for Lou Reed 10/27/2013)

(something might stir her mind)

on pillows
the satin legs of the bride
are spread open,
waiting to receive the kiss of
the immoral earth.

she slept fitfully
in pere lachaise cemetery
under a blanket
under the caresses of ferns and soil
in a movie of truth
where the previous night’s activities
are presented to her as
faces nailed to
the brick walls of the
large theater chains.

at night i let her fluid dry on my fingers
so i could capture her essence
and carry it with me all day

it was during that night,
a long time ago, that
she watched them strangle her desires
and she regretted it deeply.

shame burned deeply.

the series was shown in amusement parks
and was not presented
in narrative form.

struggling against the bonds of my eyes.
her figure poses as the cameras click;
the light is perfect.

the bells of the black horse are distant
their sound grows slightly louder
hour by hour.
she begged for something but they could not
accommodate her.

her nostrils were teased by the odors of
horse sweat and of cruelty.

she managed in between moans
to etch her face of ecstasy in between black
clouds,

in either a “film of interest or
a “film of emotional bondage,”
she said.
get me off, my narcotics have disappeared,” she said.

i could listen & watch all day. everyday.
i need that touch,” she said.

(tainted right now)

kino pravda:
the membrane that separates
as the moon descends slowly,
viewed through gossamer skin,
the image tattooed on the back of each hand.

her palms are burning
her lips are scorched by
a certain truth.

(a suspect unknown
to betray its thoughts
the kites assembled
to burn overhead
captured on negatives
celluloid to burn later
at her convenience
to erase the fact that
she was ever there)

on pillows
the satin legs of the bride
are spread open,
waiting to receive the kiss of
the immoral earth,
we’re marked by hallucinations.

(it’s a time to doze
it’s a feeling of painless days
lazing with flesh. her ebony triangle blazed.)

something might stir in her mind

3 doped females to sleep in a bed of violence

(the others lie dead in america
a land where ignorance is valued by the majority
and the rabid creators are shunned)

(female 1)
something was after her
a thing mercifully slammed into her
a body gleaming safely in the car
(playful behavior in the bathtub)
dark hair was the sound of their voices
she thought someone might be able to see it fully
welts / bruises / tracks
kiss her dark
lick the pain away

television life spoken of in secret only by hussies proud of their neglect
tarts of torture known to destroy nesting sites and feeding grounds

in transient faces of white blonde hair surrounding
albino skin and gentle pale eyes a canvas throbbing

facing away floating on the sensations
lips widened she begins a slow shivering decline
a declaration all over and slowly her lifespan was shortened

her coat was removed
a voice: low and growling
just one word: “mother”
areas of dense human pain
iridescent plumage and a dark red black flash

usually successful at driving off skin
something was after her.
she gently began stroking her.
there would be crimes
you should have kept your mouth shut, for what we had just done
elongated into reality.
she had moist tension in between her legs
never really believing skin 
she sank into waste

presumably to confuse onlookers
the ventriloquist stripper bared her ass
to solve problems presented to her
like smut in the u.s.a.

she thrusted once more and groaned
among the small mammals and birds
a cloud of fingers in her hair
she might be the predator or the victim to be torn open

cop a feel

she whimpered as another woman
arched her back and sobbed under the cracked plaster sounds
like her namesake in response they will shock you

so blurred after these aktions

nesting near sources
a plea for forgiveness
where ladies lace tightly
and faint from pleasure

we have things that she wasn’t prepared for
and between cold lips we were resurrected
touching the western mojave desert

so hard in her brain

longing for that isolated population that did not include any individuals
using her body whenever she was free and up to it
her tears falling became arms and elongated into fingers
the water’s reflection was of her silence
it became an explanation for not stopping
her nerves to breathe spasmed through as her lips trembled
she could step forward to be consumed like road-kill

brazenly picking up eggs
a source to find better hiding places

(female 2)
a small sip
a taste of plasma 
a smell of sparks

she slowly knew molecular inheritance
making complex decisions
gulping down much more than was consumed
forget herself for a while
while her eyes twitched behind her eyelids
flashed twigs to play with socially
a position for her tiredness

the blindfold tells her now what was to happen
her hands pull out for herself
her eyes usually reflect a carcass
it’s a transient image caught from beyond remaining stained in her mouth

something was after her
a thing mercifully slammed into her
a body gleaming safely in the car
(playful behavior in the bathtub)
dark hair was the sound of their voices
she thought some might be able to see it fully
welts / bruises / tracks
kiss her dark
lick the pain away

(cooling off period)

there were at least a dozen victims
as important dimensions were shown
her eyes were locked on the spree killing
and the identity of the activities of the couple on
the edge of the bed

to enjoy the feel of her murdering a large number of people:
she was a full-bodied woman who looked content (the perpetrator)
she scratched and slunk away in frustration
charging $ for certain sexual positions that were believed to be against humanity

walked into the crimes
found some dead in missionary positions,
some people achieve optimal alignment,
when the receiving of pleasure is subject to considerable pain

he took her hand as the spree continued
kissing her lips whispering about elvis

murder lumped together a woman lies on her back
important dimensions
a night massacre – she smiled as she lay on top

a night massacre – she smiled as she lay on top
any idea why you feel like god?

(female 3)
unwrapping her outfit
indicative of the weapon
silent glances frozen walls
flesh sticks to flesh and the end is not close
current vibrations between two bodies
she will take its life before
the evening is over
hunger for hunger cruising blank streets
pushed deep and did just that
obviously enjoying it

eye contact if they wish, to make you cum faster
get it over with so she can do it faster
scratched her flesh for a while and sunk the barb deep
red blossoms screeching some pleasure then a thud
she looked at her carefully
a study in pale
partner kneels astride
follow the instructions
she said she said after she was done
their own hips above
those words are enough to make out the massacre
her fingers buried in a hand scroll depicting fellatio
so 19th century

something was after her
a thing mercifully slammed into her
a body gleaming safely in the car
(playful behavior in the bathtub)
dark hair was the sound of their voices
she thought some might be able to see it fully
welts / bruises / tracks
kiss her dark
lick the pain away

just one kiss,” she said, trying to sound legitimate
one with god in mexico
she’s having a blast
with negative law enforcement

she was the horniest before today
she shall carry every case as an incident close to her chest
a shallow breath to remember them by

(coda)
bikers commit suicide
she shuddered went out famous
as a poet stealing a police motorcycle.
rolled over
flashing lights
grinned and straddled her shock
stolen from hell
—————————————
Peter D. Marra’s chapbook Sins of the Go-Go Girls was published in April 2013 by Why Vandalism? Press. Two of his short stories are in the anthologies Have a NYC and Have a NYC2 published by Three Rooms Press. His short story Expert Collisions, recounting his experiences on 9/11, was published in Evergreen Review in September 2013 and will also appear in From Somewhere to Nowhere: The End of the American Dream, which will be coming out in 2014 from Unbearable Books/Autonomedia.
peep-o-rama, a collection of poems, was published by Hammer and Anvil Press in November 2013 and is available for Amazon Kindle. It may be purchased at: AMAZON.COM
His published work may be viewed at http://www.angelferox.com.
—————————————-

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