Peter Marra ~ prescription overdoses with musical accompaniment

(an equinox )
gagged days of commercially funded TV
at her legs, by her intersection
she was groaning loudly,
watching as the hemispheres were illuminated equally
strangle the hands down to either side
smallest microscopic pleasures
1000 injuries never erased the scars of
stretched neurons under blue lights
reclined on rancid tableaux a performer buckled herself in
and booted up for the long long ride
a relaxed fetish object described by
red paint on black walls black
paint specks on albino skin later
joining to become a linear outline of her cravings
eventually forming a union with her circulatory system
under level throbbing
just beneath she lost control of her fingers as they
dashed up and down
flickering
flickering
finally coming to rest where they were most needed
need silent kind words now
she reached under her within the winter
some fucking had advertisements on television
these points of intersection are upon animals
lie down next to an equinox
this aktion sent shocks exactly equal in length
standing naked
an observer sees the center of the room
they taunted her more as sunset approached
licking the landscape with a parched tongue
jaws aching
living under the spoiled mouth grimacing in pain
persevered, (night) preserved.
places where the direct observation is of her
as she began penetrating the television
the bad, impure, passion-driven apology
for the next generation
searing waste
consumption
discarding
until the eyes dwell in blood
suffocated by the burning air
looking up toward a sky
that reveals no response
until the truth becomes
ashes floating towards dirt

 

Peter Marra is the author of Peep-O-Rama (Hammer & Anvil Books, 2014). He writes from Queens, New York.

“Peep-O-Rama” is poetry filmed, so to speak, in darkish reds and noirish indigos. The marquee light that comes through the book’s sleazy diaphanous curtains is of the “Taxi Driver” era; the book’s unexpected dilemma is of sensory escapism turned existential crisis: Abel Ferrara’s “Bad Lieutenant” as surrealist montage. On one page we might encounter the musings of the Hippocratic wandering womb; on another, the “transitions of a chopped body on a kitchen table”. Never pedantic or dull, Marra’s book starts full-blown and stays there, ginsu-ing and spewing Italian and Japanese horror cinema and more than a little human loneliness and alienation as it goes.”

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