Peter Marra

Sins of the Go-Go Girls

 

 

Sins of the Go-Go Girls

 

I.

 

Moon twisted reverse position

spirals down then

up.

watch and wait

the sun cavorts upside

down until it’s beaten by the moon

and buried bloody in the sand

smooth pain watching the walls

radio player electric stations

watch the people pass

 

II.

 

Walking down

streets reverse position

talking to no-one

smooth reverse position

time to go

it’s over then it starts again a moon twist

reverse down up stop start watch

the people pass lonely town

and it’s time to start again

guns sweat frenzy sin.

Best friends pass and lie down.

 

Night chasing her she runs.

the moon cracks into 2 perfect halves

and she lies down to rest.

Lids closed

swimming sounds thrash

electric water sounds

slides away

she’s safe again.

 

III.

 

Boots vinyl

chained to the tight shadows

dancing constant cages of fire

She’s got the yen to lick the staccato leaves

burned to the window pane

broken glass and

leather windows offer some relief

fun to destroy what came before she got there

 

IV.

 

Rain falling

the heat and the stink

as she walks home and goes to bed

the sheets too sticky to

protect and the fires

burning always

as she lies down

convulsive laughter and

tears the sounds won’t let up

and the tight shadows of the night

brand her body

sour smile and sleep.

 

 

 

The love servants

 

a face barely submerged

beneath the pale

ocean water.

electric fluid mixing with her

static fluids.

fingers trembling

she holds a clock in each hand:

black fingernails etch scars in their faces.

 

her body is gently supported

by the ocean’s spawn

taking her back to the beginning

as her eyeballs roll upwards.

under fluttering eyes

she recalls sigils

resembling the dead structures.

a scent arises and her nostrils flare

caught between real and false,

cut by shadows.

 

a figure detaches itself from

the darkness overhead

and grabs her wrists.

a bare rumbling screams up her spine

as she calls for

forgiveness.

 

eyelids open wide

unable to close, a mouth

tastes the synthetic flesh.

it’s used to alter her appearance.

it’s used to eradicate forgiveness.

it’s a specimen in good condition.

a past dies loudly

the soul of the business.

the splendor of rhythmic motions

erase what came before.

the wonder of the cult

as the clock hands spun.

 

teeth grind.

it is consumed.

 

 

 

girls don’t know tomorrow

 

cuffed

to the railing

while laughing at the

subway train

scooting by.

 

the people

inside the cars

scratch themselves

and dream blankly.

they carry

the kind of germs that

lead to schizophrenia.

 

(that mosrite guitar

sound and Michelle Angelo’s

sight and sound

she will never hear in

a mirror for a bump and grind)

 

we watched

and waited.

 

they licked each other’s eyelids,

satiating wounds

that couldn’t be described.

 

waiting for her to arrive,

the car passed on.

 

cuffed to the railing.

 

perpetuate the crimes

that leaves the walls

red and the concrete wailing.

 

picking broken

glass out of our eyes,

she was silent to please us.

 

wanting more,

she ran away.

it’s another time

and another place

now.

 

cuffed to the railing.

 

(i think you’re not

that kind anymore)

 

vomit up

the evidence

and walk

under streetlights,

 

so you can force the

cops to die slowly.

 

 

 

Secret dreams of the night traffic

 

in the dark she talks about the incident,

the time when she got her ears pierced in secret.

 

denatured faces hiding

beneath cracked paint.

chipping flakes / the wall seeps.

 

an eye greets the crime.

 

look up from the landing

look up / the banister is tilted

black stairs / white handrail

 

count the white noise waves,

slammed at her because she wears

dangly earrings / lewd baubles.

 

cut the baubles off

because she’s stained

parents guided by eviscerated dreams.

 

hypnagogic.

descending slowly:  

an embryo on fire

is glowing in the silence.

 

dark and emotional

chanting a sound

invisible and raw torn.

 

chanting between laughter,

then a silence and a moan,

clothed in rain.

she couldn’t tell if the rain had stopped.

 

her victims hid behind her

constantly reminding her

what they had done to her.

a dance for a cannibal’s sexuality.

the Spanish moss

in the house breathes heavily,

and small laughter invades

 

 

 

Originally from Gravesend, Brooklyn, NYC, Peter Marra lived in the East Village from 1979 to 1993 at the height of the punk / new wave / art and music rebellion. He has had a lifelong fascination with Surrealism, Dadaism, and Symbolism; some of his favorite writers being Paul Eluard, Arthur Rimbaud, Tristan Tzara, Edgar Allan Poe, and Henry Miller. Peter also cites Roger Corman and Russ Meyer as influences.

 

His earliest recollection of the writing process is, as a 1st grader, creating a children’s book with illustrations. The only memory he has of this project is a page that contained a crayon drawing of an airplane, caught in a storm. The caption read: “The people are on a plane. It is going to crash. They are very scared.” His parents were always disturbed by that 1st book.

 

A Dadaist and a Surrealist, Peter’s writings explore alienation, addiction, the function and misuse of love and attraction, the curse of secrets, the pain of victimization and the impact of multi-obsessions. He has had over 200 poems published either in print or online in over 25 journals.

 

His published works include Peep-O-Rama from Hammer & Anvil Books, approximate lovers (downtown materialaktion) from Bone Orchard Press and Vanished Faces (a performance of occult infections) from Writing Knights Press.

 

Website: www.angelferox.com