Confessions of a Wind-Up Doll (True Burlesque)

Confessions of a Wind-Up Doll (True Burlesque)


Peter Marra

There is always beauty in the hissing sounds.

The alternating camera speeds reveal a long-lashed woman;

touching experimental films, she has a forceful birth

to destroy Hollywood

a local documentary,

a psychodrama,

and a spectacle of

piano crashes—

so dramatic

in the cinema on King’s Highway in Brooklyn

three prostitutes wear clear vinyl dresses

comparing themselves to each other.

a purple keeper of her soul knows this:

that every girl wants the music

that every girl wants the sounds

knees on the seat but no relief


she heard through the door

a notorious incident occurred during dinner:

a vomiting was responsible the biggest blushes yet.


her flesh paled after jumping a film actress,

that girl, whose five inch heels burned

as she tongued her legs. just rock & roll


true burlesque. the cracks and the faces spied.


she entered the hotel room

whispered nothing words as the doors collapsed

hissing shut

pale light fractured rays

no light switch just a pull chain that she couldn’t reach

she touched each of the

black leather window panes

stretching her arms tight against the casing.

so organic.


one time

one time slowly

from each touch came warm resistance and inhalation

yielding to her pressure gently ripping


the slight breathing made her eyes tear

she could see that out on the street

the painters had put away their scalpels

and set themselves on fire, brick is cold.

squirm sleep squirm


Scorpio massage film

it premiered in brothels

reinvented characters for a lush freshness

a stick mistress look


a flash silent magician

those close-ups embarrass her


a secluded face on that black summer day

came to whisper to her. so far away


again again


a third sequel stalks the terrible widow of prophesy


knees on the seat but no relief


a bullet true burlesque the bullet shot words hurt

also a great example of the undertow.

waiting for the sex shops. and the peep shows.

peep-o-rama transplanted to the clouds.


from her forehead down, her fingers traced eyes

a fever fetish dream (with wild eyes panting)

because of what was in the car trunk


looks slowly over her shoulder

the painter painted silhouettes of yesterday

and was atomized by the jury

looking over her shoulder

walks home slowly slowly slowly

say something like a refraction of the sunlight,

as she stared upwards.


glazed shut by her own prismatic hand:


a lying poem published won’t know me

Spiral backwards falling between sense somehow,

and whirlpool moans

and she’s guilty of nothing

she vanishes in the  fragments of the season


tongue speaking

watching multiple copies of Lana Turner

there’s beauty in the hissing sounds.

they wait underwater as a woman smiles


past: heavy air captured me when I was a person

the cracks in the faces spied. stone is cold.

saints kiss them slowly and grin


glazed shut by her own hand for a jury

as she lay fitfully on smooth tile floors.

figures collided so gently

taken into bliss films

a silhouette molten beat throb

the wall twists with smell of Frankenstein



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:

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