DM
153
Peter Marra
Poesia di luna nera
{Black Moon Poetry}
A Parable of Parasites and their Lust for Indecent Objects
1.
hurt
hurt against a
soundless atmosphere
She etched her tattoo onto obscure flicks
She wished for a Bloodsuckers dance
Someday we’ll look behind us and we’ll laugh eternally
because of the inhibited car crashes
and the caress of the smell of her hair
(the receptor was supposed to do this
but we were left alone as usual
craving objects behind cracked shop windows)
Love is sometimes merged together
There is a certain effect that we cannot
begin to understand when bodies of flesh get joined
by immiscible threads
The wires of lust stretched
Rivulets of red sweat moved as trickles
Petals were drained of colors
paleness intermingled with earth
All is as it was done
As it looked as it worked out
As those behind us were asking for permission to retrieve what it yenned for
hurt
hurt against a
soundless atmosphere
2.
We seem to document by photography that
which was never written
She entered the room to see the present-tense that
had been painstakingly constructed
Rebuilt as a shapely seductress with shadows of
handprints pulsating over
blushing skin
She was telling lies to protect her-many-selves
She traced these handprints carefully before their removal and
kept the reproductions in the portfolio close to her heart
Her model whimpered as the handprints were removed
Her model sighed as the handprints were
burned onto the skin as shadows
Nuclear fallout tends to have that effect
It’s a byproduct of minds gone so sour
3.
Their abhorrent skeletal details were embraced within
the gaze of a pair of strangers
Only touch if you want to get burned
(she had a sex thing for implicitly violent images alone
being replaced by the image that was once cinema)
But she identified the crime in the second case
and was completely obedient to
syncopating the stories in and out
Bursting the blame and fabricating alibis
Consuming or creating storylines
She was ground into her and the space absorbed more
As they knelt on the beach at sunset clad in red latex
waiting for the leather moons once again
(their society dissolved but
their figures remained)
waiting for the leather moons once again
Sudden Fear:
The Creation of Animals Which do not Have Real Human Counterparts
No one here.
A silhouette of feminine form
sequestered in the alley smoking lucky strikes
Polishing a switchblade
Just a little more dry blood to remove
Monotone whistling
Hiding the blade in a black trench coat
Licking her lips
Not enough sleep
To change things
i spent a day viewing decayed film
until i found her hiding near a cigarette burn
we removed the frame
tender and rare carefully spliced the
reel back together (no one will notice)
(no one will care) her face trembling turned
around became alive
vibrations slight trembling our
sweat stained the lenses
(no one heard) our licentious
inclinations ripped the
sheets that
kept us in bondage
every action she performs is Film
Minutes passed out
her thighs clung to the shadows behind us
slamming back assailants
she shuddered (no one
tasted it)
at the taking of the animals to
slaughter
psalms were faintly heard and the trees trembled
the book she was reading slipped from her hands and
she smiled as the binding broke and
pages were wafted away
she managed to grab one back from the clutches of god
gleefully read its contents:
Cannibal recipe #69
Ingredients
1 Perfumed touch
1 aspiration
1 lick of the lips
1 fingering of her pussy
1 yank of a penis
1 aborted fellatio
1 freezing cunnilingus mix with the blood of 4 buxom female houseflies in order to achieve the Renfield effect
Cook up in a new stainless steel bent tablespoon
Using a new hypodermic draw fluid gently through small cotton ball
Once syringe is full tap the hypo gently and excrete air bubbles
Remove cotton and rub over clitoris and cock
Tie up shoot up flush out needle
Savor flash/ bang
She said,
“these sins make my tongue tingle. These
transgressions will never be forgiven. Enjoy…
enjoy…de Sade only knew part of it. Because I
let them. Because I let
them…in.”
an alphabet that was crafted out of
burning acrid vapors
joined in the dance of
numbness that had invaded her space
she expected it and she laughed… and then
she hated the fact that she gazed up through
silence drowning
Her paralyzed lips kissed every hole in the floor until
eyes opened between the black lines
in forgotten or forbidden rooms (she didn’t recall which)
she suffered the licks of accusing memories
fabricating new creatures to eventually cast aside
she told everyone who would listen that it’s best to live with our sins
while savoring the texture of evil hidden in our memories
she had been accused once too often and been excluded from the feast of archangels
the driver's eyes drifted
drunk on advertising media
while she slept in the back seat
Pure Music in the Warehouse of Photograms
They took good care of the patient
until they released her into the air
floating drifting
cruising cursing NYC downtown
rising disease
clutching veins
twisting
petals of blood were added to the flow of the breeze
catalogued atrocities were but whispers of thoughts now
the vortex of the hour for sinning came
quite unexpectedly for our heroine
unsatisfied.
her cravings were equated with the lepers enjoying
their blood-drunken rage.
an abandoned new building was shuttered from the inside
you can’t take it away from her
her nails were imbedded deeply
the addiction removed their cures
replacing them with indelible faces frozen in horror
the growths became circular in nature and the
musical notes formed crowns that pierced forgotten skins
the vacuums didn’t squelch the endless noises
then she said her.
Prayers.
Then. again she
said her prayers
this time. perfectly
this time.
this time. our
time parts. of
the mind were. Gone.
in time.
brushing away the insects that controlled time.
My journey ended. Our journey started.
her hands cupped her throbbing vagina and she felt her wet clocks twitching
wrapped in a faint sketch of timid longings barely satisfied
never to be out-vamped by the fallen flesh of Liz Taylor
she painted a fresco of her fuck frenzy on the chapel ceiling
twisted
a nerve twisted cock.
twisted
faces. Bent happiness.
with much laughter
she tore off the numeric dials that
had been tattooed on her legs
you get all this for you only
tick. tick. tock.
just so your eyes can see me
no down payments
just disjointed music
just laughter no smiles
it’s all so dirty out there
not filthy arousing not like in here
not like pussies glistening in silver August moonlight
your presence is detected in me
your presence is reminiscent of our differences
your goal is to make the rusted iron shatter
in a fractured alchemy turning base metal into
a rose of acid that blossoms then
clings to forgotten tombstones
etched with graffiti epitaphs
written in the blood of Isis the original
necromancer who once
revived Osiris with her skills of the blowjob
while inspirational cadavers sing falsetto in
golden October moonlight
providing more information
about the failed experiments
we held each other closer
They had taken good care of her
until they released her into the air
drifting or floating through tubes of black coral
our petals of blood added to the flow of the breeze
Violated Paradise: a new Mask of Ecstasy
this document description:
short dress, no panties
switchblade in her left boot
achieving freedom through becoming dominant
grabbing another dopamine high
The slits in the sky opened to reveal additional
slits within
contained in protoplasm
writhing hands
through the act of fellatio under a dying sun
she resuscitated her victim then slaughtered it
throughout the first breaths of autumn
a singular pain dwelled
pale blue neon eyes
ozone flashing
layered in caves
slicing
slicing
in an attempt to grab the headline,
she sent a brief email to the local papers
scanned images were attached
a simple expression of her lurid love
same dopamine high
no single primary sense organ
she followed and angels created a sexually charged disintegration
these will be the instructions for a private performance:
1 Model surrounded by seven 2-way mirrors
like those used in police-interrogation rooms
through the glass she’s viewing pale cue cards engraved
with albino words
the viewer grasps halogens
(burnt skin
burnt hair)
the viewer gasps in climaxes
(shallow hot
breathing)
she sees herself mouthing words
she hears herself scratching her skin
as professor Moriarty licked her ear
she was content that a syringe always
functioned as
promised by the guarantee
She reclined in the lounge of the torture exhibition
adjusting the monitor reception
poised between 2 pornographic channels
if she got the calibration exactly right she was promised
multiple climaxes and the ultimate consumer experience
the noise of flesh being regurgitated in rusty machines
in distant basements unsettled her equilibrium
pills restored her composure
The glass figurines were missing smiles now as
they ingested multiple images of
the by-products of Corporate USA
deep down twisted inside
Hi-Def portraits in rivulets of brain dreams
trapped in plastic screens
fabricated by plastic people
outside the tinted glass enclosure,
miniature creatures slept
outside in the street bodies writhed
eyes dilated
had she tasted ebony pupils or
disks of pain buried in car crashes?
(as she watched, progressions
became progressions in and out)
Words of spastic cobras were accusing her again
Their tails were whipping breaking skins
She smiled slightly
hair wet with thick fluid she set herself on fire
melding with the radio waves they crawled inside her and told
her the secrets of the bastards
cum shots shocked the spectators
Another document description:
her manicured fingernails parted her lips
she inserted a black orchid deep down
removed the flower, smelled it, tasted it
then held it up to marvel at the bloodstains vibrating
in the late afternoon sunlight
Becoming more accustomed to the forbidden room,
she fell asleep and the sounds began
these will be the instructions for a private performance:
1 Model laced tightly in a corset of
forgotten romances waist
sculpted until she becomes a hysterical nymphet
accusing her outcasts
while furiously fingering the orphaned creatures
choose 1
strangled deep moan under waves
fingers tapping on a transistorized clitoris
suspended from the skylight
she waved to the people below
contaminating all who saw
She murdered the moral outrage
in the 16th divine and social order
simply figments of denied sexuality
a room without healers
only the chronic disease of a slave made sense now
Never tell anyone what happened
you’ll never achieve beatification
all the doors are shut now
all aglow glowing now
going now come back to me
juju and voodoo please touch me there slowly
addiction knew how
ghosts unzipped inviting her, manipulating
she began to respond immediately
the soundtrack was missing, not blank, just absent
Her legs buckled as she heard the static of 1000 nails
driven deep until there was no sound
wooden sounds
she ripped their mercy
These will be the instructions for a private performance:
shards of missing window panes will capture the effigies
of lost wives talking to absent husbands
the Model will smoke cigarettes and
grind them out in the faces of her captors
she will pause, then inhale deeply
her stiletto heels will sanctify the night
She ran
reported missing
removed her clothes and functioned as
skyclad freedom hurting
these will be the instructions for a private performance:
the Model will initiate another brutal weekend
and hear confessions in the Church of Skin from 2 to 3 am
a ravaged body was left on her doorstep
a flickering recognition
Anatomical Diagrams of the Plastic Lovers
(Victims of Well-planned Criminal Activities)
1.
the warmth was constructed out of the comfort of a small room
the warmth was constructed out of slashed vacant souls by eternal parasites
(buy a ticket to see the sweet agony of the observers)
Please tune in to Channel ZERO
Where Experiment Number 7 was unveiled,
the show with the claws of reputation
you are in the shadows of freedom,
your silhouettes are embedded in the web of sweat
we had never experienced our eyes locking in this manner
our tongues licked back
the eyes accused
the monster-mothers were there. Unannounced.
different eras,
featuring different versions of us for us alone,
her infernal divine nature gnawed at me
the medical journals had lied once more
Cloisters of solitude and lust just made her closer
so nothing existed but herself
she went back in time and silently hallucinated herself
entertained herself with thoughts of
ancestors who had assassinated her relatives
from now on she will allow her body to morph as
she spreads her legs for new visions of
god in an unnatural state
while humming she enjoyed the low shocks of
electric labia permeating throughout the evening at 3 a.m.
we experienced symptoms of the clandestine operations of
the spasm known as the Mary Magdalene effect:
the tensions of climaxes of twisted offerings
clamping down hard on screaming mimis
the whimpering caused by jerking off jujus
clasping the hands of prayer for twisted offspring
Being herself she’s all raw and aware
by herself she’s an ozone crash
shoving a blowtorch into eyes of the holy
indulging in the aroma of after-rain on her fingertips
draw closer
come near
bodies entwined while bodies were hiding
under glass brakes screeching
outside the deep purple windows were
scratched as she used her tongue to carve dim
messages in words incomprehensible
her legs twitched as fluid cascaded down her thighs
it’s time for one more sacrament
The fruit of a bitter melon was useless
until it was used in obscene behavior.
Now it was more satisfying.
She licked herself raw lost in thought
unable to focus and slightly touched with outreached fingers
lifting herself up from the gurney
she reached towards and inwards at
the back-screen projection
The mirror behind my head slashed the skin of my face
the mirror in front of my mouths opened the
cavities where she took refuge
it was just another chance for us to disappear
A mask of animal skin was hung beneath the portrait of
her parents’ wedding
taken at that hotel located in Brooklyn, NY 1956
everyone seemed so happy then
she clutched their hearts
they were finally hers
skulking in alleys
glancing
pollinating
then the destroying the gardens once again
the women’s eyes generated more forms of torture
without windows now
they're coming for us
masquerading in their new roles of submission
and new flowers will remove our eyes
the warmth was constructed out of the loneliness of a small room
2.
have you been…
lens too fucking close. pull back. too personal. it hurts.
roll camera. take #3
sew the words together: from 2 dimensional make it 3D
us remaining with no one here no money just sex constant contact
we saw the bodies in the boxes and they were us now
sleepless as the night was stitched around us
but we knew nothing
the spiders sing in low tones almost never heard whispers
providing a backdrop for our sinful actions
hours. tick. tock. the passage of time is a disease.
fingers cloaked in a shadow dripping of her scent
lasts forever.
moist earth can’t rub it away
venial sins graduated to mortal sins
some say words. say some words.
our eyes
our faces share the same pain overlooked
once over one translucent climax backlit
the cast of the silent opera gathered shells on the
coastline while clouds funneled in the distance
while engaged in this activity she frequently became aroused.
left her faith healer to burn under the lamps
onward christian soldiers
she removed her gown and giggled as it slithered into their
night tide to be devoured by 3 mermaids each hungry for a possession
the machines had started
they inhabited that dim region between the vague forest
and the inconsequential oceans
slightly tasting the salt of her hearts
behind glass she saw them
fingertips grew cold at the attempt of a touch
she held vigil all night but no one arrived
“i must tell you but you must never
confess my sins to anyone else, our twisted ideas are my plague”
stigmata of Her
raining through clouds of nerves
silent endings in cold
water sequestered in shoreline caves
missing descriptions leading to cul-de-sacs
“now what should i say,
it made me happy for a brief time i was wrong not
understanding you. I was blind to your lust and to your soul.”
she asked to be dissolved so she
could breathe so she could shed her
skin and indulge in random baptisms
“i’ll anoint your eyelids with tasty poisons
manufactured just for us
they’ll devour us now and we’ll smile. It will hurt for only a second.”
ebbing
ebbing
faces beneath a skin of a tidal pool washing the
narcotic flesh of fetishes
our love-tides drown us beside the unused beacons of sin
Peter Marra has had over 200 poems published either in print or online in over 25 journals. His latest published work is approximate lovers (downtown materialaktion) published by Bone Orchard Press. An e-chapbook, peep-o-rama (Hammer and Anvil Books) is available as a Kindle Edition at Amazon. Peter has recently completed a new poetry collection Vanished Faces (a performance of occult infections) to be published in 2017 by Writing Knights Press.