DM
153
Peter Marra
Poemi orfani
A Litany of Lust, a Dance of Death
Incommunicado:
intermittent red stains from our
plastic victims lined the hallway
gradually she was out of touch
gradually my grip was weakened
(taste the cold searing aches) in
a burlesque of brainwashing
a tableau was constructed of her wrath and bad drugs
in one lonely nighttime
we saw an angelic frozen visage atop a body
the mannequin of pain and pleasure
the body snatchers were titillated by the smell of
fresh flesh hidden in covert songs of
obsession and desire
pain and hot pleasure had gained control of
the Dog-Gods once more
she first became aware on January 1, 1901
and she continued through each generation
the same evil came to visit her daily
embellished with the lust of the established order
under the werewolf moon she fucked the beast
drowning in its sweat
as politicians raped their citizens
simulcast on CSPAN
while violent tongues cleaned up the mess
in a reverse void of motionless sound
screaming cunts lit up the sky
no words had meaning
scripture was written on mildewed wallpaper
under the watchful eyes of the bleeding saints
one more evil came to visit her
one more sin of the established order was revealed
our passion was doused by the
black sperm of the religious fanatics
a mental vampire was embedded in her spinal cord
justifying its existence by sucking
life out through two holes
a still life was twisted beyond her control
she was becoming invisible
waiting impatiently decade after decade
bottles and vials (technical
marvels)
all filled full
with the mistakes of the forgotten
she had his death in her hands
she sent photographs and postcards that
had been torn in two and re-matched over once more
trying to find one more connection with
an opposite of her lover
hidden in one more black painting by
an artist forming a coven
of the disfigured or a collection
for the depraved
panting blood pressure rise:
he had told her in between laughter,
“they also caused pain because
they loved staring at you."
she experienced herself as a null canvas
she was under the direction
it was her decision to start
the faces of madness these beliefs
are frequently discovered in other unions
she was always enjoying an encounter
she was ripped out at
the moment of birth
experiencing the generation of her persona
standing naked in the puddles of the internet
thrusting as a neophyte becoming
experienced in murder
we watched the politicians on TV furiously
castrating their mutual sex organs
as each blade descended the crowd copulated
the most brutal passions she transferred from herself to me
she yelled and nothing was left
described in a brief outburst while
facing the liquid flesh of splintered glass
her perfectly rounded ass ignited the
walls of the hotel room
her vulnerability was
imprinted under my
eyelids
my sins twisted her lips down below as she
transfigured into a redemption
her excessive makeup covered
sexually stimulated imagery
she pushed a knife into the celluloid
she kissed me deeply
her boots were peeled away from her calves
her corset was removed from her torso
her skin breathed freely as she levitated
kissing the hands of the gods
whispering excerpts from unknown literature
unseen undecipherable
while my love cascaded over the balcony and into a
platter of black leather
blood on snow
sweat on the foreheads of beasts
a gasp of blue-red-black—
an ornament held between the legs of a topless dancer
as she tongues the switchblades
– a gift she had received from the empress of a red-moon
caressing the skulls hanging from her belt of flesh
fade away:
is it still love?
Are we still functioning?
How many can tell us about the love of our pain?
send postcards when you get there
she lines her calf length boots with the sweat of forgotten lovers
before she lacerates the flesh of the cameraman
many weird sounds emanated form the lips of the mob
in a mercurial merciless mood, she shoved
her secret deep within
a cervix not owned by her
held the lightning bolt that burst
a grinning hole in celluloid:
“i can feel it. i can’t. i’m lying!”
the inside of music rips the landscape
manipulated by the fear
obliterated by the festive slaughter
lovely lonely flesh under leather crying
with bad memories of childhood and
ruined holiday diners
“where are you where
are you taking us?”
traveling in the darkness of dank holes
my grace is gone
she lives on now in the dark
waiting for the prey reciting prayers
i don’t know where i am
not love not love
squeal + squeak
“show me what you have
where you live. hold me now.
no questions”
“habeas corpus i need it
so badly
bruised flesh - i told them about it
i took it without permission i love to see
myself enshrined in the police blotter”
grey. sigh. convulse. climax
slick
tongues dragging through sweet crevices
comforting the blind faces
wet leather on fire
leather or gasoline
1 eye found closed
Mary Magdalene dance please
our mutual lifetimes melded and transformed
Victims of the Eye (Enemies of the State)
Saturday 2:43 pm, a removed recollection:
dirty window, ripped window screens, torn shades.
a shudder and some prayers
something floating in there.
a wife of perfection views
forbidden wives as they rip the sky and
tear it into minute fragments.
the pieces spastically flutter against a
the convulsing landscape.
damaged goods pray to the black tarantula,
dancing slowly, move to quickly, move to collapse.
sour vision skin lesions grabbed
in the meantime, I sold my heart and
my eyes to some runaway wives.
we were victims of the suppression of passion.
in the time delay between
they left me their juice to cure my illnesses.
sloppy fantasies categorized nasty
(she liked to use a tongue to get fucked
because no one would hear her. they were watching.
she was awoken at 4 am when those things left the premises.
squirmy)
tight grease categories tasty
she said: "the one back there. I don't like this vegetable we
bought in Chinatown. too bitter. Fuck me! I'll slide it in my
pussy cool/ cool. my teeth hurt? The third section,
hear him enter. stretched opposite. slide them gently
over. undemocratic philosophies. the State.
Come! I said. the uppers made me sick. it's in me really deep."
a sane response. was it
a position to embrace the head and legs
or push them away?
decayed mindscape
the eyes of the beholder. taste bourgeois flesh.
hostages engaged in the orgiastic love of commodities
banging souls against the sky's window
bitter. bite. bitten.
lustful hats with veils attached to hide
the twisted visages of sexual craving;
opera length black satin gloves hide scarred forearms
a smooth touch for the triangle below;
stockings hide deep brands
black patent high heels complete the females' ensembles.
no other clothing.
the only sound is the click/clack of teeth as
a counter-tempo to the clack/click of heels on linoleum.
shadows of ladders are in this b & w background;
they can see themselves back/projected on
a translucent overhanging screen
they smile as dedicated scientists are slowly crucified.
pussies get wet at the sound of hammers pounding nails
no redemption
no halos
just sins for the captive government employees.
she said: "then school brought us to church for
the instruction one afternoon. I was looking at the
color plates in the prayer book. each station of the cross.
ran my fingers over shiny paper. the images of whiplash and
agony and a little blood. droplets. aroused me.
a little blood. droplets. I started itching.
I was guilt. felt powerful. I watched the broken light
shine through the stained glass illuminating dancing
dust particles. I had to do it. it was all camera.
kept pushing until…in for a treat now; first slowly, then faster"
lights out! sounds of kissing.
this movie was done for free
we both watched as sentences broke apart
grieving widows fade
laughing windows cracked
the phone started
(after a heroin skin-pop,
strolling the sleaze pits,
communicating with random
females plying their trades,
just to see if a hard-on
could be achieved)
afterwards cigarettes and coffee are served
afterwards skins are collected.
she applies her makeup with precision:
pale white face,
dark eye shadow,
explicit eyeliner and
excessive mascara
no lipstick. she wants no distraction from her eyes.
she said: "the one that tastes bitter raw it's green and
long I'll slide it in my pussy cool and dark green,
pockmarked skin. you're such a sweetie, I think
the uppers made me sick my stomach is
queasy I like this Asian bitter melon I have no
gag reflex this music makes me wet.
My pussy sometimes literally gets…"
the mirror sighs when she is done, it climaxes
then cracks to allow an oozing of clear liquid to
be collected in a broken tea cup that has
just enough capacity for one cum.
"I won't. You will. Any name? my name is...my name is Fuck."
tears exist just for us
"why do you hate Hollywood?"
afraid of missing her
Lizzy Mercier Descloux sings
a music burst from gentle waves and
a feminine scream in silence
she said: "I make dreams. I make dreams. put on gang of four
I like to listen to that when I do blowjobs, the first side /
the first album I don't know why I love doing this.
I'll drag my teeth gently over the head. take off your
pants and now lay back where's that Chinese vegetable
we bought on Canal Street?"
around her head it went and she pulled herself for a few minutes as
the bourgeoisie existed to exploit Francoise Dorleac's Renault 10 frozen
in between seconds at highway La Provençale
it's the birth of cinema,
the first time playing a part,
an element of seduction.
tears mixed with mascara running
into her mouth; she licked. she was in
a cyborg's frame of mind.
nude descending,
shot in the back
tumble down
crack
over and over it
at the climax she finished with: "I can't count how many people
were executed in each capitalist economy. too much.
that's it – right against my clit. numb. the ringleader of
the terrorist group kissed me in the corner."
theories attempt to explain the slaughter
mouths and tongues all groan
ignorance, mass panic, guns
jammed it in between
final act dead gone one
over her body
and her mouth. I could see her driving.
the incident of the year was at the brain's center
(motor) tics and process
losers hunting for grieving widows
her ear to the door
” you killed something inviting me in…"