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Thursday 4 October 2012

Peter Marra

cult women expeditions

a squirming breakfast table portrait
a man facing 3 vinyl clad women
feeling skin sliding wet
female pores in stasis emerging from a night
3 silences that watch a crucifixion.

there is a picture window behind them reflecting
the shine and the heat but only the female faces are apparent.
looking through leather glass out onto a hallway
he sees the stained parchment that
functions as a wallpaper.

figures enter into the hallway through red doorways
surfaces red and cracked
the figures all alien:
skin bled-white crazed ceramics
these will function as maps

a guide to later trace a journey.
an umbrella to burn
his father who wanted to be a priest
beneath a cassock to hide
holding sincerity to be burned at dawn.

slim dreams convulsive breathing
asthma – shadows slow & wild fresh pain
clutch the sun and strangle it
with a dose of epinephrine while
she grabbed the burning cassock.

tore the bloody vestments from the wall
giddy with glee from the rock n’ roll
she orgasmed at a destruction
plain black robes – hands stir black water in a well
someone howled – clap clap clapping.

a penitent’s lash will last another few years
on the first day of spring when
lunchtime brings mary from the dirt with
the industrial cartoons that will intimidate the wives
and their rebellious daughters while dancing on concrete.

examples [edit] game situations

i pussy
i took
I lost
as a state of forgetfulness
never the winter
i turned
the growth sex was just a
test: was she the society?

her diary:  ignoring reality by miracles of future
several months
felt so warm after sex
self kink

that's one when
we had it
and the other things
sick minutes
the sea beat aspects of waves
played on the video
she would lie there thinking but it was
no comparison with watching
breathing deeply,
regulate a world
handcuffs with leather buckled and played
on the scratchy audio track
reclaim to re-model

her diary: whatever i choose we make up. mass media
broken fingers strum
hard flesh spears into
a state
i breathe out and give a little

scares me to death
the smell of her mere strip of skin
she’s next as borrowed
she’s on fire as sound
she’s waiting as silence
stripped of trust
things feel scratching her
getting so turned on that brain!

finally dripped onto an immune
response to last much longer
so purple

any stranger whose
pussy warmed up was content and she
pointed out the camcorder under it.

the healthy cells extracted
from this violent song
her biggest turn is to the
very edge. on the edge of continued shouting

“i'm actually the autografted skin
transplantation in my pussy. actually openings”

she wanted to scream and look distastefully
the first successful drugs - legs wide perversion (her term).

Peter’s earliest recollection of the writing process is constructing a children’s book with illustrations in the 1st grade. The only memory he has of this project is a page that contained an illustration of an airplane, drawn in crayon, caught in a storm. The caption read: “The people are on a plane. It is going to crash. They are very scared.”

1 comment:

  1. cult women expeditions

    reminiscing, this is comfort in the dark zone…...and that first line I quoted is brilliant.


    Children are quite intuitive. To recognize the imminent descent and know the fear. I wonder if the taking on the feminine is protective.

    Once again extremely powerful writing Peter. The reading takes less focus than courage (I imagine for some, not for me on either front), as the material is bitterly real and presented with strong truth.