"A Discarded Corset in a Sinister Playground" and "Repercussions of Ash Wednesday: The Stations of Our Cross"

A Discarded Corset in a Sinister Playland

Naked shadow players were present

a screaming,
more yelling,
hooded visages - no emotions show except for
random tears trickling through a mask’s eye-slits

Put it all on stage
The filth and the stink birthed by
the sweltering atmosphere of a love nailed to a cross

a womb exploded to reveal a new creature
(the final vixen caressing afterbirth)

a mistress of derelict movie houses
a dominatrix of PeepLand

songs of the sirens
the spasms of celluloid travelers in the grunge of the theater seats
gentle tones and colors drawing out crashing down

stalking then stumbling through black night
90-degree heat mid-July NYC.

Moist smiles above and below

she adored the aroma of nicotine on ripped fabric and
the appealing white-stains on abandoned evening gowns
these new signs became
her own innovative Rorschach tests
she took the shame

The chorus self-immolated
a
fire-from-heaven

i kissed her porcelain lips and each trembling eyelid as
she described the brutal visions of random prostitutes
the ones well-known in
the brothels of the mourning stars

she made them her own

a vulva tattoo,
another Vixen with a switchblade
her god’s mottled face admired
her kohl-eyed pleasure

pupils oscillating/vacillating dilated then pinned

caressing a dressmaker’s dummy flagellants singing
spastically humping
head back /neck tight growling

as it wailed against the collar and leash she
quickly covered what remained of the
face with her trembling hands
stifling another scream

eliciting climax after climax from herself
as the musicians pouted

Evening 3 AM:
the specimens displayed were stacked
she relished her alone time on the bed in the bare cube
surrounded by her forgotten literature
overhead fan blowing cool on her legs and dangling feet
eyes rolled backwards
relishing real photos of real people hurting themselves
something she could sympathize with

savoring sweet superstition to feed her guilt

glorious forbidden images from the past
twisted sexual infidelities
touch. touch. until wet.

twist well before using
the barren figures stood silent
bowing
attempting to scrape the film from their eyes

 


 

Repercussions of Ash Wednesday: The Stations of our Cross

 

1st STATION -  Jesus is condemned to death
pass through each stage

i can’t be alone this time
in this room of clandestine voices
radio-wire memories generate a stillness
under her more tendrils dragging slowly

a baring
a touching of flesh
watching figures breathing under warm water
cleaning sins and burying our
aktions in caves of no morality

 

2nd STATION -  Jesus carries his cross
she’s breathing
slight beads of crystal kiss clammy
flesh tearing the science of love apart
shredding and subjected to more experimentation
slight soreness transparent creatures viewed just
below their shared skins’ surfaces
enclosed in a fully formed placenta

glistening bodies moist shadows sun sweating cooling
trickling tricky spasms
she can’t hate anymore. i can’t be afraid anymore.
she bared a breast and winced as she suckled
the frightened infant that had crawled out of her lover’s throat

 

3rd STATION -  Jesus falls the first time
under ebony clouds of blue desire the
punishment of sins not spoken grew in a rabid fashion

tremors between her thighs long golden / dreadlock burning
slo-mo multiple climaxes
as the slivers of the ocean and the shivers of the
moon pass quietly under the gaze of
black dogs gathering in the distance watching her every move
she grins while fondling yellowed wet fangs.

barracudas of reverse reflections in
her retinas constantly turning
she tears a vein with her longest
nail and feeds us fear then sheds a tear

 

4th STATION -  Jesus meets his mother
2 figures spread eagled on the white beach
powder sand colored with stains of unknown origins
waiting for the liquids to stain them blue
to cool their tongues
to feed their children

radios play static
radios play rock n’ roll
radios play words that no one can remember
but inflict sexual conflict and
frequent orgasmic explanations
tentacles clasped in prayer
begging
begging
golden dreadlocks
cannabis cannibals banging on the shutters

 

5th STATION -  Simon helps Jesus carry the cross
aroma of special sacraments (no
verbs only nouns). just like this
Mayan crucifixion twisted
in her laughter, her eyes glistened as
the rain arrived on schedule
reach out and lift me up

Mayan sighs under blue eyes of
mirrors the bark of the black dogs
while holy water spurts from each wound
desiring her body to be clean she
washed in the premonitions of darkness

 

6th STATION -  Veronica wipes the face of Jesus
Sleeps sleeps sleeps (while sands were drinking her wetness)
she painted mirrors with black paint and
described her dark pigmented electric orgies with
bulbs, wires and screws.

Criselda pondered the nature of existence
the first dancer was male. the first
danger was a kiss embellished in blood. she began a
mating dance. she rubbed her hands on his body as
he collapsed. his remains lit up the sky.
made her wet. she creamed. she screamed.

 

7th STATION -  Jesus falls the second time
Criselda pondered the nature of existence again
she rubbed her hands over a corpse
today her black dreadlocks lit up the sky
made her content
the smell of the semen made her wet
she felt the touch of god as
she inserted needles into the eyes of the sky

at evening
she sat on the beach watching twilight
grabbing nighttime by its neck
as female figures danced and donated
their confessions

 

8th STATION -  Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem
she claimed the random atmospheres
as her own
elegant footprints of neon provided are
cord of a journey

her toenails gleamed as she made her
way to the glass cage
fingertips on glass - cool wet
slight vibrations devoid of light or

interstitial pangs cracked glass noises as
she attempted to grasp her memories of
tagged brains in a small parish

 

9th STATION -  Jesus falls the third time
hiding in the grove of pain
black tresses fluttered
slick fluid against
slick glass accelerated the crash formation

single notes of love inhabited the
pyramids embedded in the landscape
a background that started to do the twist
new entry points caused screaming in the fields
fingertips on fire
unable to reveal my truth, she collapsed and
dozed for 15 minutes.
the spine ached from
previous attempts at removal.

 

10th STATION -  Jesus is stripped of his garments
excuse me for slicing my
flesh open while singing the laments of
missing rock n roll tunes
these were never recorded at Sun Studios
revealing all my true selves of nude
female interiors depicted
on the canvas of other people’s flesh

saliva blood and her scent of exhaustion
frightened and agitated

reset

hieroglyphics of Isis giving blowjobs resuscitating
Osiris behind the drive-in theater /
watched by
Anubis watched
by Anubis

giving back lives
she drove past
i sucked greedily but
was denied nourishment.
her children needed to be fed.

 

11th STATION -  Crucifixion: Jesus is nailed to the cross
we’re not very close anymore
she regrets me
composed her sexual song
she abducted and
rearranged all the messages
as strippers removed their panties to be themselves

Persephone listened to Dusty Springfield
learned about
life from reruns of 1970’s sitcoms and
relics of a childhood ignored
she hid in faded books bought years ago,
from bookstores
in that mall in Brooklyn

 

12th STATION -  Jesus dies on the cross
musty pictures
the gypsies taught her new languages and
the benefits of thievery
she and i sawed down the tree
(rusty chainsaw
and gasoline)
We constructed a cross to
be used later in that
crucifixion we had heard
about (teamwork)
i don’t know where my home is anymore
this is a hollow noise held
under the tongue
until too tired to stand.

 

13th STATION -  Jesus is taken down from the cross
Ecstasy of crimson
Cool
cool dirt
Her eyelids fluttered
Back-flashing images of
developing Sadism

soil is so pleasing we almost feel
human or just a lame attempt
at comfort
perhaps

go to sleep

the shepherds lacerated their hands and feet
stifled ruptured screams as they buried faces in
pubic mounds. Moaning. Flight.
Celebration of rancor and random abductions
singular flight of my demented lovers
she responded out of a crisis
unable to determine the passage of hours or minutes

 

14th STATION -  Jesus is laid in the tomb.
mahogany stone and wood outlined in
red and purple
linoleum floor
naked. she stretched out
pale white skin black floor
rusty blades

there was a short-wave transmitter in the corner
there was a slashed figure hanging from the ceiling
this figure was only 2 feet long and humanoid
a totem of what used to be inside her
its scars were minute
its scares infinite
viewed secretly through the
Ektachrome filter that
doesn’t exist anymore.

Scratchy music sonar backdrop.
the flesh piercing was difficult. Elizabeth
Bathory wrote down the names before eating
the list. no evidence. no evidence.

 

 

Peter Marra

Peter Marra’s writings explore alienation, addiction, the misuse of love, the curse of secrets, the pain of victimization and the impact of multi-obsessions. He has been scarred by his past quests and he has been manipulated by trash culture and fine art.

Peter has had over 300 poems published either in print or online in over 25 journals.

His published works include approximate lovers (downtown materialaktion) (Bone Orchard Press) and an e-chapbook, peep-o-rama (Hammer & Anvil Books available through Amazon – soon to be re-issued in hardcover). Peter’s latest work is the poetry collection Vanished Faces (a performance of occult infections) published by Writing Knights Press.

 

Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Sunday, August 13, 2017 - 22:56