Peter Marra ~ pagan sinema: a stain from her mind

dm-89-entree-pic-oscar-droege

“snake handlers always dance in a dream,” she said

while under the mask of all-saints-day
this traumatic event arose
from the recesses of a killer’s mind

the hands were clasped behind the back
the animals had been anointed and
spoke in codes of rhymes

she gave further advice disguised as a warning:
“beware: the tactile sensation of semen can
sometimes be confused with blood. Be
aware.”

driving thru pain in a sleepy
sloppy leather wrapped mind with a mouth
coaxing a demon from Jayne Mansfield
did she know what would eventually happen to Sharon Tate?
did they know how the pain would feel
or the taste or the sound or the aromas
or the pleasures of the crash and the delight
of the slaughter?

blood-gasoline-soliloquies
wishing for 3 pietas to perform a rescue
animal-headed figures are prevalent
i tongued her pale lips while three of her fingers were
twisting black hair into knots
we were starving for nighttime and
the hissing frenzy of throbbing fog under starlight

she finally admitted it in her confession,
“they tried but they couldn’t believe it.
their American dream convulsed.

their gods died fearing cum and cunt juice.
they watched themselves as they became impotent.
i cut off their cocks and hid the pieces of flesh
from them.
new topics for the oral tradition.
dancing wrapped around the hallucination.”
(all dialogue recorded verbatim)

she was seething
she was pure
and she said,
“i painted them dead and removed
their eyes folded the bodies into mirrors and
put them in that closet right over there.
non-specific violent love.

that’s what they gave me and i puked it up.
right back at them.
fucking assholes their children will be mine.”
she was transformed that day and it scared me
attempting recovery through aimless searches

blood-stained clasped praying hands
“open the door and here are the people”
shaky lust – she hasn’t displayed
any psychological disturbances since that
time that we never speak about.
this damage was acquired along with a
selective insensitivity to pain

a body was squirming pathologically with
a prevalence of phantom aches and
glazed eyes of psychogenic happiness

she reveled in her disease: this skin to slippery skin.
behind her. affected. she was enamored with the
look and the feel of the tongue and the
slap of pain electric in nature and
lustful in purpose

under the intensive use and nature of opioids
reading and touching the original screenplay
with magical powers
“i’ve always wanted a secret, so i can hurt you
with its purpose. I warned them. i warned you.”

a moment of Zen:
from brain to hand to crime to love
fire under the birth of water
truth spilled from her mouth as she
climaxed clutching his eyes until the voice was split
and the nucleus erupted
her aroma was everywhere

fingers in and out
ball bearings rolled around
(squirming pathological pain
such a disease) this had become
the neurotic triad that refused
all methods of counseling
linked with mutations
“i really am a star,” she announced and
ran out into the hall, dry-mouthed and shaking.
never had such a feat been performed and she was so proud

insolent scarves embroidered
with contorted faces lit up in pain wafted
gently through nuclear breeze

“it’s really getting very difficult to
keep on this way,
night after night,” she said.
“it wears me down,
a razor cutting away at me.
i see skin fall to the ground.
it makes me sad.”

the mill was producing material that came from
the entrails of a butchered animal
hitting the external openings
tasting the pleading look in its 3 faces
reading the signs

she gasped, “please close the door.
i can’t see it, i don’t want to.”

front to back or side to side in the embryo
of this film these are the
toxicities of lovers found in
the walls darkly pigmented,
providing resistance immediately
overcrowded licking its sweet juices
then stepping back to cry

she gasped, “please close the door.”

the dusty texture was on the floor
roll around. roll around. just play.

a star of the Hollywood seed
fading on her way to the beauty pageants
she wrote the suicide notes and
filed them away
this was the attack that killed him
she made gleeful sounds
as she doctored the crime scene

a huge load of pain was sucked out
she sighed relief that she was able to continue

only slightly shaky
only slightly afraid
only able to live
a 2 dimensional existence

intending to cure the addiction
of lust and the eradicating
of love: exciting and nasty!
the interesting thing was that she reached a new level
before being cleared of the crime

cinephiles taunted her
she had emerged as
a lost shadow of the golden age

(hollow walking noiseless in love)

as murder was being brought forward
she hid her face in the pillow and
fondled herself into a vaporized bliss-out

eyes were programmed
freedom to practice police investigations
she used the snakes to show non-Christians
that they had forgotten

no touching,
unless we have a chance of death
no touching.

she felt even sluttier when they defended religious freedom
or the licking of plastic evidence while
handling the serpents, she will plan to
sit apart from the ritual as it proceeds
never believe anything a policeman tells you

we interrupt this program
i believe they were buried in the family tomb
we interrupt this program
sexually enhanced snakeskins
were used as silhouettes of pain
maybe she’ll recognize those who
fantasize about her and
the colors of freshly turned earth human-made

casual memories of forgotten guilt
a wicked grin consciousness taking root

one female buried her head between another female’s legs
afterwards she begged for
forgiveness as the oil slick
spread in a slow torturous fashion across the sky
the radio transmitters heaved as
a monotone drumming slowed to a crawl
the party was just starting
she once again begged to be forgiven
it was now black outside
she had destroyed light more than once
“i must be clean.
i need some holy water.

get me a gallon. fetch the shaman.
it’s such pretty poison, you wouldn’t understand.
it just happened.”

vulnerable before but not recently
she strained against it then bound and bludgeoned
tasting sacrificed corpses that smiled and bowed

in the hard and narrow surface of tonight
the poison was a hammer and became a
teller of reality it became an animal and
became a part of the existing religion.

mixing and mingling moving
positioned behind her in the middle of a scene

figures way up in front
helpless now
she spread her legs as she pointed her toes and
pushed against
the gradient rainbow smiles

more. jiggling torrent aphasia-state. more.

the Nile bleeds daily and whispers pleasure
as the forms of red shadows
as an ascension into heaven

“my cunt speaks defiance and gunshots
unmarked pistol fantasies
the swollen motion is what we want
imagined what it becomes once one is
renewed and changing the course”

tied a blindfold over eyes absorbing tears
planning to shoot the prosecutor
a name actually makes you so lonely
set loose in the labyrinth to please or appease

“more pleasure please. you
must infuse the
love back into me”

muffled moans grew louder

“i’m transitioning into something else
that frightens me so much
the streets grab my legs and my cunt
dosing me with vibrating music from their mouths.”

“the wires are hot now and the liquid is throbbing
are you staying or moving on?
it’s because of people like you that
people like me exist.”

the bugs are here again tonight
kissing lips of pure black metal
caressing breasts of bloody iron
they don’t know what happened and they
have broken the glass of the laboratory windows
under eyelids they dance as retinas are cut

filthy barricades of lust accentuate
tight flesh clinging to boulders
beating slowly
hearts beating slowly

bent over a laser bath
her breasts and crotch were cooled in the radioactive wind
the aftermath of a dirty bomb
the headlines taunted
gently swaying to the dulcet tones
more headlines taunted
full media coverage
details of sweaty surrenders

the clocks had stopped never to breathe again
and there was movement in the city
as her fear became a
sign of pleasure
a wall
of sound
of skin
behind stained glass
fluctuating expressions
glimpsed frequently
then hidden

(as a child with
parents in a

movie house
giants on the screen
molded fears as she
sits between them

random banshee coming to rest
kisses the night air on
the
way
home
timid around
and warm

rain in summer
cracked smiles
reflected

in the car’s
windshield
as traffic lights pulsed
bounce arousal
mouth
tastes
metal)

perverted mantras: i can’t find it
i can’t stand still i
can’t i can’t slow
saliva from
pale lips

voodoo bang bang

going down the hallway to the end

“see the mark on my breasts
where God kicked me and Lucifer kissed me.
while i listened to rock n roll all night,
touching electrified rosaries”

slight sucking noises
sporadic and calm slight sticky noises
purring
and that dull smell of loss

she said, “you’re afraid aren’t you?”

she said, “masochistic kisses of
cold heat bitter milk
dripping from windows of brine. all mine.”

her soft body
became wanton
nailing her lovers
onto curbside crucifixes. unctuous smiles.
as the cars drove by
$5 to watch $10 to touch $20 to cum
stick figures
licking figures
holy fires branded her mouth on my chest

a mermaid on fire
she wanted to be near visceral memories
she can’t scream underwater
surgically removed veins and aortas were
wrapped around her pale slender digits

she relived it
she awoke through the shower of
blood and sperm
and giggled because
she so often confused one with the other

emotional state
that hangs above
and sees below to judge

waiting for time
waiting for flesh

damaged
and timid
to be offered up
instead of relief
smooth vinyl figurines sob in the corners as
we hear blasphemous geometry roll away

making voodoo

slamming questions of the motives and reasons
a room lined with glass mouths and immobile eyes
she performs tagged and trapped behind an idea of happiness
on the outside a line of potential suitors
are eviscerating themselves in order to
bring her bouquets
in order to gain her approval

leave out her identity
in a broken tumbler of her fluids
left / right drift
removed from the equation
a glutton for fulfilment
her parade
blazing eyes she laughs
her face in a frame hung
30 years of memories
and TV murders

deliberately poisoned her mind with images of
toxicity drawn from today’s
headlines of fetuses dancing
dreading ballads of wombs in flux
and solace for the misfortunes

narcotics cum
violated angels
opioid climaxes
well worth the wait
cascading over
she lapped up the remains as
she looked upward towards heaven
that’s why the sound is
removed on the remaining
prints of this movie

nanoseconds

flick of her fingers as she rubbed the knob of her clitoris
fascinated by the word itself
robbed the pleasure so she could eat it
spit out burning droplets

pouring love mutated
just as the news station had described
lovers mutated so it was true
it was on the news so it was true and
she murdered so she could fuck again
so they could be whole again

baptismal
dismal personality strobe effect
a disorder of their successes
a fulcrum of punishment
they kissed once
out of it

one in one out
they kissed and sighed starry eyed as
a web of saliva joined pale lips
once trembling once cold sifting
through veins of fallen things
squirming under her feet the
car was too fast she knew it
wanted it faster
she knew it
they clasped hands together and became lovers

at night hours later in the summer:
strolling on a beach next to the
pool of water that
swallowed sins for its own benefit
fragile frustration
gunshots in the distance
heating fleeting beating
nails hammered into wood
another cross erected
the slime theory was proven
staring at us
tongue flashing, she flicked her tongue flicking over
parched lips an aktion that
was final and tawdry
wrapped in black red purple sounds of
metal covered with leather

a secret her secret
i watched her eyes
hanging colors disappear in black
trying to see my eyes
it was almost pornographic don’t you think?
(a secret. her secret)

she gasped, “please close the door.”

 

Peter Marra is a native New Yorker, currently domiciled in Queens. Read more of Peter’s nsfw poetry in DM 105 ~ Audela, premiering Fri 3 Feb @ http://www.dansemacabremagazine.com
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