DM
153
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