Sunday, February 19, 2012

Peter Marra - One Poem

Elected to the Needles

a room.
scene 2.
light bulb.
the females rest boneless in the boudoir.

sound of nails scraping the label
off of a methadone bottle
white soiled plastic
pale stained digits
fluid orange somewhat pale

style of forgetting wanting to get there

black feline
no opinion
food swallowed without incident
vomited back up
without pain

slow blinking
a white eye
a look down narrow
as the silence sees

watch for it. the time
that you lied for
long tall sally.

running away
a jump into a 67 mustang
that later burst into flames
(pinpricks slow skin slide)

double hand claps syncopation
jet black stylization trapped in formaldehyde

as purple grey midnight dances across her albino belly while
phantoms part her secret lips to engorge then fall back
for a rest - sated
i’ve seen them

indulging and enjoying themselves
a feast for 3 figurines

silent time
bare shaved clean
disappear into the seldom used lobby
occasionally, she was more.

the criminality,
and the dependence
and the magic
and the exciting abuse
became more widespread.

the viral application deflated
double hand claps syncopation
jet black stylization free in the oxygen

have a lay down on the cooling board

emotional fixation


it’s the big time

The apartment door was closed tightly. There was noise in the hallway.
A smell of disinfectant from the booths down the hall permeated a science
that clung to them without a reprieve. Their lenses were cloudy and they couldn’t
see each other. Passion was eliminated and a dull sound crept up their spines.
They held hands and wished for it as they lay down on the stage – mold clingy-
framed in gilt.

Peter Marra is from Williamsburg Brooklyn. Born in Gravesend, Brooklyn, he lived in the East Village, New York from 1979-1987 at the height of the punk – no wave rebellion. He has had approximately 75 poems published in the past year.

No comments:

Post a Comment