the conviction was overturned to tease him
the boiling of the world in
Lady Heroin fucking
resulting in worlds where they can role-play
thrust the whole length inside her
serial killer potentially killing
revealing a pose in the community of
her black vinyl skin-sweat
opposite receding arrows of her lust caused her to implode
to become embedded as a constellation next to andromeda while
the digital recordings were buried in dirt
ambitious streaming females held flayed flesh
woven into flags each flag tattooed
with this moment's date and time
She suddenly felt another judge
As he gripped her tightly her legs involuntarily
Engaged in movement that embarrassed her
there was no pain
since it was the early stage of a clinical service
the dope dealer mainlined with the nuns
all of this was filmed by the priest
as the confessional was electrocuted
language is a common aspect of a dilated and puckered hole
none again. not again. once over.
clutching her dress
carrying herself into the curvy wilderness
taking off again,
bend and stoop behind the glass
wave at him
she ran her fingers through herself
between the houses and
back again
against the wall just enough to tingle
in the alleyway
possessing sexual desires.
the presence of music voids resistance
or serves as emotion
girls curvy behind the glass
waving / engaging in the media
heads turned towards her.
plots uncovered in 24 hours
depicting male and female sexual dysfunctions
walking by slowly. they stop. run down.
a dream lover slips into a grainy blowup
showing the body adorned with a grimace
showing the body minus the smile
she needed to speak the code to be finally high.
high heels encapsulated in descending music fade away,
leaving only us to use them again and again
and to hand them over for a photo shoot of mundane
sexual activity: thighs wet and slimy,
detecting infrared emissions of aggression.
clutching her shadow,
the house happens again
and traps reiteratively
clutching her against the wall,
no one is there
overusing an ache for satisfaction:
she inserted it into herself
up to the hilt
inside damp places where choruses died
none again. not again. once over.
our love and our sex are D.O.A.
the skin of bodies became pain killers
dissipation of longing from
frolicking muted nets of forbidden hues
as winged beings slid through the tall grass
to touch their faces to her burning thighs
to whisper a secret
to whisper a secret
too embarrassed to speak
anticipating the behavior
another wave of pain through
fine line patterns that detail a face of ecstasy
her collisions were designed for vocal chords
she felt many hands pulling her human machine
she stroked. she stroked. none again. not again. once over.
she.
the polyresin saint statues were lit
eyes tearing from the acrid smoke
as the liquid became napalm
she stopped dancing
a song in the key of G ravaged
a synthesis of hurt
an itching under the skin
a sexual undertone
notes split then
inserted the wrong way
slippery vapor thoughts
low resonance streets
her curves acted as a catalyst
aural sense of color spectrum
oral sense of sound spectacle that
lies between her eyes as she quivers and
emits harsh blues
guttural from the delta
mud smell
a delicate multi-layered strata of
sweat
plasma
flesh
A native New Yorker, Peter Marra continues to reside in New York City.
In first grade, Peter created 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." Peter's writings explore alienation, addiction, love, secrets, and obsessions. He has had over 200 poems published either in print or online in over 25 journals. Peter's latest published work is approximate lovers (downtown materialaktion) from Bone Orchard Press.