White Handkerchiefs

white handkerchiefs with

stains that she and i don’t talk about anymore

but it’s an implied

secret that we smile about occasionally.

brick stacked

upon broken brick

upon glass bottles


black. naked.

silhouettes lightly touch

before evaporating

moans escape as

a gaseous existence

timed to the slight keyboard sounds

of the surf organ sleaze


she wanted to cry in joy again

we gave each other fantasy and

a criticism construction

built slowly that collapsed


forever hers

forever mine

back to whispers

back to silence

about the documents

entitled the standards of care


as a symbol to her

the other species found the problem

her legs squeezed together

her nerves removed

her sinews dissected

heart set aflame and

sacrificed to the sun god


as she was disturbed

by the naked walls

as she was disturbed

by the non-stop sounds

constantly arousing her

then ending when she slid free

her hands free

then she stung


a serious tone as

she was sucked by the institute into

a black waltz

that left him watching


eyes surrounded

by pearls

fucked by the color spectrum

with blue as she permitted

her tics grew steadily

as she feasted on flesh

from the physicians that slowly

castrated themselves as she



waiting for the surgeon as she squeezed

then rubbed her face across the danger

as the exhaust kicked into overdrive


“your screen is blank”

By Peter Marra


8 responses to “White Handkerchiefs

  1. A response is not often better a second go around but perhaps I’ll get lucky.
    Actually, it’s great because I’ve gotten a chance to read this now for the 6th time (perhaps 7).
    White Handkerchiefs
    ….again a slight departure from your other works. This one is more slick and steel. The sensuality is not there but the flow is and wrapped in an unwinding poetic story.
    I get a personal, deeply personal revealing of a twisted, sociopathic connection.
    What is remarkable is your ability to draw the reader into what would generally be an undesirable place to visit and we (I) am brought in and even in the dark, and it is dark, there is a love.
    Love is love, even distorted.
    The secret seems impossible to dissect by ‘normal’ means and standards. The madness keeps its colour (I prefer that spelling).
    “your screen is blank” … to me that’s apathy….a non-pulsed manner – for those who live in their mad world, what we can not decipher and only they can see, and when fortunate, with a partner.
    I am drawn to this piece, there is an ugly reality but such a beauty – a dual thrust.

  2. I’d like to thank you for the efforts you’ve put in penning this site.
    I am hoping to see the same high-grade blog posts from you in the future
    as well. In fact, your creative writing abilities
    has encouraged me to get my own, personal blog now 😉

Leave a Reply to iltana Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s