Peter Marra ~ Amorphous Hustlers of the Avon 7 Cinema

(“The Avon 7 was one of a number of so called “mini cinemas” that opened in converted retail or office space in the late 1960’s and early ‘70’s. Like all of its “mini” cousins in the Times Square area, the Avon 7 featured hardcore pornography. Located in the old Studebaker Building, the cinema lasted well into the 1980’s and possibly into the early ’90’s.” – Cinema Treasures Website.
It was home to live sex shows and it had a notorious and mysterious backroom, where by invitation only, people were allowed to enter and become the entertainment.)


Last Hidden Underground Cinema
camera roving from subject to landscape
zoom in then out taste it
Cunt under glass just like on TV/ buy some
raising temperature
Cock in a closet just like on TV/ buy some
raising temperature
the logic of light bulbs beckoned in neon fury with a subtle yet
painful lick of the lips. humming. humming. taste again.
an invitation to dance and pant

so sick again (grimy-dirt-under-eyes) so sick again
preachers on on smack

Annie and Vanessa preyed in the back,
looking for something to do after chatting of this yet that.
the latex priest (blind from birth) anointed them and himself
while Marlene drew eyes in the air with her fingers.

smiling at no one in particular,
the cleric drew a bath of baby’s blood
proclaiming “this is the true religion” when the tub was full.
spread wide open Annie achieved an epiphany

Jezebel hid in the closet avoiding the rabid dogs
a victim of hatred and misunderstanding
the show is always there behind the glass
under the basement not far away
deep underground seven levels down
it’s down deep between hell and there
punchy-fuckery amidst sinuous touches
nerve endings spliced/
respliced with high tension wires
this is the new hybrid that will make all better
flesh in contact with hot sex crimes exploded inside
the ceiling oozed. A tongue dragged over and eyeball
coming to rest over fluorescent air of testicles

i can’t let you go in there all by yourself,
you’re too alone,
too erotic,
too vengeful,
too fucking horny

this methadone blanket filters and mutates
with the filthiness of heat and the ache of coldness
we only care if you’re horny and smell of leather and sweat
we only care if you’re stretched taut across the nighttime sky
quivering with cravings and fears

dirty massages burning oil distilled from your fears
grinding pleasure wearing down your objections
smoky visions twisted and inverted spun around an undefinable odor
figures in the corner of the eye vibrating to collapse

his only song “this is the true religion”
mouthing “I’ve found my use, I’ve found my muse, the nails hurt”

a forceful Venus
spasms in a guilty night of raging lust
/being ordered to
being ordered to/
an elusive lady coaxed tender mercies
cinema knows everything
the black gloves clutching the throat of the demimonde

Kino klimax
Velvet frigged herself
a long time ago she yearned to be a Rockette
as Annie whispered to the man in the moon
behind the glass behind the curtain
“what was it” she knew she was whimpering too loudly

Just the genius of evil descending
a goat-like figure recalled the men that stopped permanently
she cooed with appreciation
voices caught in crooks and turns palms against the glass
bent over and straining
her spirit has driven me here
the deep circles around her eyes betray her love for me
her betrayal itches under my skin
nothing alleviates the hypo won’t do it

those three faces will cause an explosion of flesh and fluid
to drip over glass and walls
to shield our eyes from the greatest pain
felt like meat nailed to plywood
cleansed under scalding water
swollen labia, peeking right, wanted to emerge
the perception of her wantonness solidified in front of me
her ebony hair clammy wrapped around it
pulled in and spit out until there was nothing left

while Annie and Vanessa preyed out in front,
Marlene removed faces and hid them under the seats
(love waterfalls, urine, vaginal fluids, sweat, anything wet
began to fuck you)
the grand educator of prostitutes became a famous slasher

she got back what was taken
she enjoyed watching the gnashing of teeth.

her favorite fluids spread over her cheeks
she was barely conscious of your DNA
slathering guilt instead of pleasure
feel her nails

porn: see her awake and starry eyed
wanting her to feel
she watched me tell it again

she reached down while looking at me,
a conscious level of specific genital arousal


Insertion of an interlude later that winter at 3:33 a.m.:
a pale kiss was suspended slightly. its function was to caress a forgotten black iris. sleepy on the window sill. generous to nature, but it slept between her legs, occasionally causing random wisdom climaxes of music; but these were also silent.

we sat on the bench and counted our fingers. it helped to keep the simians of Mammon away. the street lamps ignored us as we held silent hands. later at 4 a.m. we fucked in the glass pen after the glory holes had closed. this had become our routine, activities with a furious fuzziness.

the lingering never ended. the hunger never left. each wall around us held the butterflies
trapped. under our tongues we held our memories. this was OK because neither of us possessed a gag reflex.

we remained motionless to catch a sound
we remained motionless to catch a sight
we held this position until
my lovers opened their mouths in an orgasmic demonstration.

Annie and Vanessa preyed in the back,
looking for something to do after chatting of this yet that.
the latex priest (nonexistent, really) anointed them and himself
while Marlene drew eyes in the air with her fingers.



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