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Movie of the Week of a Flying Sex Women - poem by Peter Marra

haunted nursery rhymes
slowly strumming with patient measure
vision mental (including psychosomatic) taste of her juices

at 4 a.m.
           she buried the pistol in the bayou mud
sweat blood
           smell stickiness
underneath her black painted fingernails

she avoided the cops without risking rehab
her grime was upstaging the law and order
with her legs spread, time doesn’t change
this film is heroin. sniff it and suck it. snuff.

voodoo sex is better
generates sounds that you can stomp heaven with

she held the shape of his glistening face
close to her heart revealing his perfect cries
she was stretched further than she had been preserved
a fist clutched gently around her prize

the July moon was drawn out long in a sky
translucent and still breathing

slowly as she patted the dirt down
slowly twirling under the black moon dive
she tasted her lips so salty so pure

the radio moaned scratchy music
           (poor reception in the swamp)
wearing a long leather tail
           her muscles ached
she didn’t recognize her actions anymore
           she showed way too much cleavage
sucking in the wet air of hot mongrel dreams
cruising the borderline lapping at brackish water

slip into bed deep red lips and nails

he was far away from the finished basement
           where she bled
           and the new kitchen where she fed
the spouse was gone
           only remnants left
licked powder residue from her hands
           sulfur nitrates
knives as aphrodisiac the libido frozen

the bayou begged for release

hand rubbing over hand
a walk in the dark area of desire
           no claims on life
hurried the psychedelic,
still covered in fresh people
           revealing his perfect cries

little of her blood in the mumbled pleasures
over his pathetic orgasm,
voodoo spells for a cure-all

“let's hump, never tried heroin.”

totally unable to satisfy her sexually

raw H mainlined burned electric
           don’t need him forever
           she’s innocent and naughty
           touch a mainline

she photographed every move:
the blood blossomed in the syringe water
           his slow o.d.
           his face floating under water
the slow drink of bourbon she enjoyed later on
           an atomic blast between her legs
           and she climaxed as she watched Nagasaki
           a debut feature-length

she’s just a creation of charms and amulets
true rituals are held as a last resort
start shaking for the Super-8

study correlations between guns, a systematic reconstruction
of pistols, submachine guns, and assault rifles,
from linguistics, from cognitive science,
before the marriage, is there a heart to save?

From Peep-O-Rama: Sins of the Go-Go Girls

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 sexual and otherwise. He is in love with the Three Mothers that sprung from the hallucinations of Suspiria de Profundis by Thomas de Quincey. He has been scarred by his past quests into the pits of Sin & Flesh in NYC’s East Village and Pre-Disney Times Square and he has been manipulated by trash culture and fine art. The bastard child of the films of Roger Corman and Russ Meyer, Peter has had over 300 poems published either in print or online in over 25 journals.

Originally from Gravesend Brooklyn, he lived in the East Village, New York from 1979 to 1993 at the height of the punk – no wave music – cultural rebellion.  His published works include approximate lovers (downtown materialaktion) (Bone Orchard Press), Peep-O-Rama: Sins of the Go-Go Girls (Hammer & Anvil Books available through Amazon and Vanished Faces (a performance of occult infections) published by Writing Knights Press available through Amazon.

Author’s website: www.angelferox.com

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