start of a symphony forgiven
there is a place
"i'm sorry."
She gasped at the plan:
(he had died slumped over his desk
after she was suffocated by the nightingales
that were proud of the children's fears—afterwards they hid in the back alley
fucked by time and fucking for life)
"you are only occasional lust. we snuggled in our cells."
she read me her stories
there is a place behind a wall where static breeds.
reveries.
silence and abandonment for
a scalding clinging function
sweat touches sweat
a moan as a result of vessels draining
i hated that.
i met with a body.
i could taste particles.
these foreign things
embedded inside her
that make her laugh
there's a place.
"tell me another story before i lay down."
she breathed wet into my left ear
then we went outside into the street
where the electricians had wired up the crowd
and pulled the switches.
the drummers
died slowly
and collapsed.
we laughed.
there's a place.
there's a place.
where the psycho-cats
lick the bricks.
berated
she hits her chest 3 times.
wail baby
wail
a soft monotone
working it
"this stuff'll kill ya."
dogging me while gulping benzedrine
she walked them down
the stone steps
holding the leashes of 4 dogs
her neck encircled with 4 onyx collars.
negation of the wanderers
a kiss for the spectacle
betrayed by the images generated
just for them.
a walk in silence.
the cars make sounds but it's not important
black hair leopard skin coat
shoes at the end of shapely nyloned legs
a generation of multiple puzzles
jigsaw spilled on concrete.
negation of the wanderers
a quick run to the church—
a spanish moss touches in our groins—
a laugh from the spectacle—
a manipulation (it's proud)—
a skin removed.
blood spilled.
a thing is gorged and it's at rest
just a puce moment
just a burn for our flesh
tongue. as. croaked.
waiting on
the seed floor
shivered. as. warm.
flipped hot
national climax. as. walls.
(minutes
lasting
seemed
like
sex)
crack in the walls
hands in the flames
flesh. as. burned. smell.
twists. backwards.
and some wires
the bosom
clock
smirks
silently
while wrapped
in litanies
she dozes and
floats
painted forever in a cinema
while she loved
a monster beyond the stars
walk down the street watch the
crowd shuffle near the curb.
subways.
taste burnt metal
skin. smooth.
female. sweaty.
fur and leather in the july sticky rain
she's reaching toward the shiny things
and stops just before.
(taken on
the pussy floor
beyond the stars)
told by the people below the ground
Look down. Fuzzy. Falling. Fuck.
wait for the churches in use by the audience.
keep the others away from being touched.
wait for the critically insisted assassination.
fact facilitates spreading
A long
white line vision
cloaked trees
burned into the sky
teething visions eating the clouds
a crazy crazy silence
couched for generations
coming soon
jails split open
go go time
fetus burgeoning crawl
into adulthood
addicted to
the scenery initiated
in silent screams
mouths flexed
wide agony no Sundays
burnt out in anger skin
pulled so tight
the facial muscles
give way to display
the bone structure long hidden but always loved
revealed to us the highway explodes
the asphalt is burnt
the hot desire sucks in the
clouds the generation
fights slowly then
takes its place and cries
the spectacle dictates and is later destroyed
virgin birth long
hidden messiahs long
burned a populace forever crying
fingers can't function
forgot how they work
lips frozen forgotten what they are for
the same the same the crash
the taste of paint on steel
Peter Marra's poems explore alienation, addiction, love, the havoc that secrets can wreak and obsessions. He has been published in many online and print publications, including Literary Orphans, Danse Macabre, Maintenant 4 & 5, Caper Literary Journal, and Why Vandalism?, as well as an interview in Yes, Poetry. A record of his published work may be found at www.angelferox.com. Peter's e-chapbook, Sins of the Go-Go Girls is published by Why Vandalism? Press and is available as a free download.
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