♥ ♠ ♦ ♣
at the Clinic
“Can you describe your emotions clearly, honey?”
A sheltered innocent: she could not remember when she wasn’t a victim.
An experiment. She had been eaten alive: “We’ll see what can be done to repair her.
There is always hope.”
Twisted muffled laughter run down by a GTO. Screaming Stickmen
with ludicrous libidos scratched at leather windows leaving white sigils etched in flesh.
[please read, please watch me]
The limpid pools of her eyes reflected concentric circles populated with
scans of discarded handguns and cadavers of John Does waiting to be
toe-tagged and filed away.
This was a sacred book. These are the forgotten words,
hidden from the populace.
We are guilty of the machines hidden in the basement.
“Are you nasty enough for them?
Exotic yin-yang models milking you dry.”
A fender-bender rolling around in her brain, she clenched her
teeth tightly until her gums bled.
“Prudish virgin.” Hidden among the walls, the peep-shows
cranked out dirty pictures.
Peter Marra’s new poetry collection, Captive Wild Woman, is forthcoming from Hammer & Anvil Books. He writes from Queens, New York.