They started yet another one hot
(as the nervous system in bed had asked)
more location
more structure
as they were stripped by kisses
as they were condemned by the invertebrates approval.
Outside words refer to the relatively still
back for their own turns
with a virtual warehouse inside.
menu item 9 is the couple next door watching
actually she would be interested in
calming once more,
allowing a view,
selling information,
actually he knows the female melody is in transit.
Further information:
many human months later
the conveyor belt broke down
and they weren't able to continue.
the brick house collapsed
(it was only one to a customer).
side effects only provided confirmation
of what had occurred.
The original number specified was 99%,
knowing that and then
instead they manufactured
restless idle talk while they looked at each other
watching from the other side
Now:
i saw that film once
in that white building
with the dark green
windows
overlooking the park
that park where the
children without eyes play
quickly
she said she would play cops and robbers
bonnie and clyde
she would be bonnie obviously
Then:
when i was much younger
i would play with billy and steven
sometimes girls would join in
i would always make sure i died early
on in the game so i could
watch and rest
i stayed quiet
Much Later:
confessions were bargained for.
the afternoons of the blind and the helpless
running circular around each
other touching fingertips together
whistling in the fog
a blind dance for the blind
the old woman in the house
drew the drapes shut
and set the furniture on fire
his mother would yell at us to shut
up fuckin' stupid kids
Far Away:
forever afflicted
she shook too much and smelled
as liquid flesh
calmly seen through the glass eye
replaced tomorrow
after we have rested
microphones behind her eyes
tasty, tasty, tasty
she settled in
we nestled
moist air night
they are across the way from me
she died in a sign, years ago.
a brief reminiscence of a time gulping air
savoring it as it stuck on the way down as
she surveyed her room for the last
time a perusal of pain and cold
sweat fond remembrance they had
such sweet plans
cold hot cold
silent flesh bathed in shadows
a silent scream that she knows will come
she lives for fighting with languages
of unknown origin that beat the sky
she lives for fighting the sun
she comes and goes
beds destroyed—homes never known
she counts 10 fingers 10 times over
for the idol of perversity
out-stretched in a wilderness
longing for a weekend in
l.a. to sleep under
the Hollywood sign
a desire for the skin effect
prayers said 1/2 asleep underground
to the cadence of masturbating voice announcements
invading areas of sweet distress
the badship lollipop sails again
the waves vomit beauty crushed—
an arousal—plastic
taste emerges tasty
a valley cries silence
laughter it's at that point
always moving to an
end a circle of tongues she
tries to please trepanned
activities but the yen remains
always for a poisoned mind
speak of what should be done under
the Hollywood sign
dreams evaporated promised never delivered
the next stop
is the next
stop is for a
convenience
excise the
heart the next stop
the next step
is
such a dirty dolly soiled with want
hide between turnstiles evading
offal a hangman's noose she sings of these things
she sighs with pleasure
zoom in camera 8
sighs with pleasure speaks of a magdalene's
broken body on the coney island sand wet
the cyclone in flames
she revels in sights such as these
this is the result
skins almond—eyed creatures blink quickly
clutch at her legs
a slow draw down
a blood sweat sweet drain
buried semi-naked concerned
with clocks cringing from
broken mechanical lovers
& automatic vehicles
to live in a mason jar
spoken about often
worshipping the vixen
more news to follow
sunglasses that light cannot penetrate
as seen on tv
a soul of flesh tapestries
in an embryo of glass
faint washes of colors
washed out grimy
feeding through retinas
never to be re-born
sitting on a worn wood stool in darkness
soothed by darkness
darkness caresses
images a brain massage / infinite
pleasure / & pain
birthed in leather
a reminder of the great fall
the tumble-down from the infinite silence
a peep-show injected deep inside
please don't pull free please
A Brooklyn native, Peter Marra lived in the East Village, New York from 1979-1987 at the height of the punk—no wave movement. A surrealist and Dadaist, he has had approximately 100 poems published in the past 2 years, including an interview in Yes, Poetry. He is working on his 1st book of poetry.
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