Peter Marra

Poesia Nuova

 

 

In Cinema-X: A Halo for Nobody, an Atomic Baby

 

(screaming figures. twist. twist.)

kiss me, nighttime, lick me

just a fondle and a touch

bring me back to the reverse of now

craving normal one more time

Scene of the crime: a post-plague theater in Times Square NYC 1981

 

she was in the empty parking lot

behind the monuments to consumer addictions

she turned her eyes upwards and was struck blind

worshipping an idol of perversity

 

(while your eyes are glassy)

in the temple of Cinema-X

she reviewed the contents of the scene

surveyed the stink, the piss and the blood

she knew who was responsible

but she couldn’t recall the execution

 

she said, “I don’t fuck well when I spit venom.”

she followed this statement with a sigh and a smile

then proceeded to get off once or twice

I was so fucked up I lost count

 

the invaders had arrived,

she sensed the entry

she caught the aroma

as she sat in the degenerate back room

fingering blood-stained lace,

caressing the lingerie,

counting her infernal trophies

she reeked of sin, she knew it

 

in a low voice, she said, “I wish I could draw a beautiful woman.”

 

ripped memories from a childhood torn up and crumbled

swallowed/inverted inserted under the flesh

 

words just words

 

as she cried the celluloid – they eventually spoke to her

it was holy gibberish

as she counted the rips and tears

counted the fractured figurines,

and sucked the milk out of the camera

 

everything had run out,

the moist faces accused her

as eyes floated in a twist of clouds

déjà vu: the credits of Frankenstein 1931 (Universal Pictures)

a stretched-out scream of formless penetrations

 

swirling/

swirls/

she couldn’t talk about what had happened

or what she knew

 

a time in wonderland

a time to savor bruised soft skin

 

or purple bites – the tracks of what had happened

that she wouldn’t acknowledge –

plastic fear wrapped around her heart

 

Satan’s daughter kissed us gently and all was perfect

rock n’ roll healing potions smoothed out the rough spots

 

the first time I saw Velvet she was

stripping to Zeppelin’s “Houses of the Holy”

no tape recording / dirty stage Avon 7

just gyrating to the scratchy vinyl /

pulling the jism out of Jimmy Page’s nasty black Les Paul

 

her pierced right nipple still oozing

she did it for the movie

but she really liked it anyway

when the safety pin was pushed in

the celluloid screamed,

stuttered, halted

just like I had seen

just as she had screamed

she was so loose now

aroma of pee rose from the linoleum

 

(pain/pleasure/fear/steaming shuttered images

for her Theatre of Cruelty)

 

I watched as she fucked a guy on stage,

just for the money

and just for entertainment

and just to eradicate some pain

and just to prove it

 

soft shadow knives spoke to us

studded leather straps bound us to each other

just to prove she was in love

 

Cinema-X creeping through

we hid and

we played afraid

stretched to the max, her eyes rolled back

just the whites showing, she clung to my skin

 

her radioactive sweat, sweet and bitter

she was so glassy

why was she so Nazi?

 

tango into the dark:

Satan’s daughter inserted a Hypo

slammed the plunger in

pulled it back

 

(insulin syringe fresh out of the pack

– bought it (blue tip) special –

right[pdm1]  off the street)

 

boot slammed fucked

it sucked all my blood out

replaced it with orgasmic smack

she squirted the remainder under her tongue

fresh buzz another tune another time

one more time

some more words – fuck in a void – frostbite caresses

pitch-dark blanket smothering us

 

Satan’s daughter bit my lip

giggled as blood stained our lips

she wiped some under each of her sly eyes

pray for me my baby-baby

anointed with sweat and cum

encountering mirrors as objectified sex objects

we were usually known as antisocial strangers

 

soft touch (take it away)

pain for a specific type of human

 

discipline and punishment:

let’s get some my dear

reverse of the obverse of our dual personality

 

then we can dance holding each other closer

grasping for fear gasping for silence

 

we’ll slowly twirl under the streetlight at 48th and 7th

we’ll be a tableau for others to enjoy before the Big Nod

 

wouldn’t it be luverly?

give up one final kiss,

then I’ll watch as you dress in the

leather strait-jacket conjured up for us.

 

do the pony

do the watusi

The Rock N’ Roll Nurse eviscerated the victims

do the frug

slowly

entering the paranoid-schizoid-position

she dumped the bodies on 10th avenue

 

one final kiss. never satiated. we’ll run away.

anointed while cruising Route 66

 

 

 

A Symbiosis of Standard Pornographic Progressions for a

Glamorous Lost Female

 

1.

She curled her tongue upside down

(like she used to)

she confessed her mortal sins to a cracked glass pane,

“I don’t know what I’m afraid of

but it keeps getting stronger, twisting,

growing, possibly it’s the evil growing long,

spreading me wider until i can’t scream anymore.”

 

Cracked voice thick with mucous and sexual innuendos

“Why do they hurt me over and over?”

bound with neon

stripped in the nightmare nighttime,

Sinful Nuns offered her scenes of degraded intensity,

as they clawed at the threatening atmosphere

slapped by electric leather drenched with sweat

 

“Tell me what it says in the Good Book.”

she was occupied with fucking her discomfort away

she came up with more formulas to poke into her veins

jagged slashes of past realities

(like she used to)

 

“Please tell me who gave you the doll,

the eyes were removed.”

 

relishing the slight pop as the manic hypo

or the frantic cock pulled out

driving her into spasms run amuck

started with a kiss, then a caress, then acts of perpetual sin until

the sodium gas streetlights exploded around her eyes

ending in

manic fucking

manic climaxes

manic manipulations

 

Satan’s clergy condemned her again

she confessed her love for her insanity

non-human objects we pulled away from her reverie,

 

She could taste anguish on her lips,

She was immobilized by religions that created violence

She evaluated the languorous lines of her sensual throat

She pleasured herself as an act of revolution

 

“Tell me what it says in the Good Book.”

creation of the situations that bred a taste for murder and mayhem

dancing always in the underside of the evening

waltzing towards the final climax

 

“all I did was try to be something;

all she offered were words to comfort me”

her hands were shaky now as she viewed the D.O.A.

savoring the celluloid re-enactments of past crimes

indexed and numbered filed away for future reflection

 

her character was very appealing

as she slowly twirled strands of her hair

flicking it away, adorable insouciance

in front of the card sharks dealing from a tarot deck

La Papesse landed in her lap

Le Magicien slid deep inside her, private and fulfilling

 

2.

Woman kills husband at supermarket

in front of 3 children, cops say

Georgia convenience store shootout

leaves officer wounded, suspected shoplifter dead.

spluttering.

 

Her confidence destroyed,

now she was meeting them to exchange herself for cock

She only lasted a little bit, according to police.

withheld by the force of her pussy and the

suburban fetish mandala

futile search for satiation

 

she continued to gag and sunk the length of it in

pulled back the entire distance

buried it all in a smile and then bent backwards

 

ragged breaths surrounded her heart

the lovers were resurrected in the minds

of the woman from Starship Venus

 

the red tide appeared at the seaside

breathing tales of forgotten lust

lost dreams

lost love

gathering pain as the waves grew

 

“Please tell me who gave you the sacrament,

the icons are missing, the color is gone;

a void pale beauty kissed by the iris petals.”

 

 

 

The Lusting Hours of the Female Scorpion

 

she lived on a divided plane of Klein Blue intercut

with voided white

 

escorting prey on a naked road of darkness

passing sliding panels, a gentle touch

one scene revealed the other view

one panel of purity revealing one image of sleaze

reveling in the numbing of senses

 

fully clothed, she played with the naked image

car crash sonatas just for her tonight

outside on the street passengers taste the TV Eye

coitus-interruptus (an excruciating twist)

she whipped them into a frenzy then left

Emanuelle in Hades gestating new subcultures

 

she walked alone in the evening

along the street lined with blood spattered white walls

pausing to lick and nibble unaware victims

initiating random infections

spattering her white go-go boots with spit and venom

enveloped in the music of the retro- Farfisa

 

Sex magick climaxes

the censors’ throats were slashed

she rallied the concubines and brought them to Paradise

 

 

 

The Lady in Black has an Affinity for Disturbed Objects

 

A frozen once again in a twisted smile

she nodded in the affirmative as she grasped a 9” stiletto

hard, cold, stiff

warm tongues licked the blade gently 

rumours of the sadist creeping down low

a brain was stolen, ripped up and destroyed

 

“You want it. I know. I realize I have no morals.”

words addressed to a miscellaneous body on the floor

caged within/ without

ex-lovers slashed under the throat from ear to ear

she kissed him (full camera)

She remembered the stigmata of lost lovers

She remembered the taste of past sins

 

“Slam me,” she begged

the screeching of the birds beckoned her to the window

she walked slowly as liquid hips swayed

under blood drenched ebony gossamer

she had a fertile swaying walk

hips to and fro

heels (click/ clack)

her pussy on fire

and a vacant state of death

with a judgment stare

 

unfettered breasts heaving underneath

bloodstained gauze

insane body language and distinct

camera movements

cherishing images of flayed skin

shadows crawling slicing a silhouette into different planes

 

“Shame me, deeper, now,” she said

“I’m locked in a box.”

counting backwards from ten, she climaxed at zero

a body liquid and intoxicating, moans removed

 

At her own initiative,

she took their places and reinterpreted conversations

she touched each of her nipples gently

and orgasmed again in black and blue

mistaken for a raven, she hid in the boudoir

with fingers sore and fingernails shredding their flesh

 

“Give me a taste,” she begged

“Count my tattoos of undefined creatures.

See? they’re right above my cunt.

This is the best movie possible.”

slowly torturing juxtapositions

deceptive lovers boiling point

lick lick one distinct distant camera

 

Cling-clanging machines for two hearts without a cage

one dead, one running

she reveled in her freedom:

as she became a nude on a random beach

as she melded with bleached sand

as she reached a groove near a tidal pool

as she penetrated herself multiple times

as she caressed sticky fingers coated with white dust

as she killed the human touch

 

“The last hand was mine,” she said

a sonar registry

of disappearing addictions

of revealed imprints

of fleeting pain

 

Aching. aches.

as she preyed on flesh, she adored the visceral sounds

she leaned over the puddle to taste

the blood blossom in the sea water

smiling at the face of a discarded octopus mouth

after counting the spokes, her eyes went blank

 

“What a day. Need some rest. I so enjoy

passionate fucking and creative murders.”

Later, they surveyed the empty shoreline.

All fauna had disappeared.

 

and orgasmed again in black and blue

in adoration