a riot at a massacre

a dreaming for a dreaming

walk a street stare down

sitting in a booth

existence pierced by lies

tasting Mexican witchcraft

agreed to the orgasm and passed out in exhaustion,

all the more certain

no more than a symbol

she craved to annihilate death

it died to sanctify living

emotions mauled the car slowed down

a murderer was given a lift

(the weapons were hidden)

She was charmed by her sinister smile

And the lust of quiet eyes glowing in submission

recounted by a narrator accompanied

by music lying in state,

and i can become part of the western image.

morgan le fay smiles as she’s

tied down / marriage / blood / silence

touching

where can i go

hiding

hiding

her magic stolen

another noted fear:

the wasp woman

past:

heavy air

captured her

when he was walking in times square

near the sex shops

and the peep shows

peep-o-rama

show world

shiny new toys

a history of sex pain lust

lashed whipped screamed

in between her ears

girls behind grimy glass

a lust for something for the head

the curtain rising lowering

continuously

at the request of some tokens

staring at the geisha house

and the women blanked back

it was a scream’s juice that woke them up

a dance for the cat o’nine tails

just a break in my walls

just slight fears

just time enough to rest

she spies through the shivering window

a slow hazy darkness, a gentle touch

she will stay inside until the rains stop

9 days in succession

vibrating images pass quickly

(a deck of cards)

can’t run out

can’t walk away

a slow crawl in moist cold

she rolled onto her back

across the shiny moist concrete

buried by a sinking feeling

a stinging pain multiplication

the night screams as

electric bacterium – a dance

the cars drive away while

the women on the curb

sit down slowly.

watching.

watching.

wondering where the

autos have gone

they will return

to give her a ride

9 times suffocated.

9 times cut.

9 times in a blaze.

we’re all viewing

the pleasure syndicate

as they slam

the music score

and twist the toy box

some pets for play

a tv crew

had assembled their equipment on the street

arguing passionately with the audience

that they were rupturing in lieu of capturing

the “sexual academic research on souls”

cables connected

she was one of the silents

the director fondled his actresses

before they sewed his eyes shut

conditional upon his approval

time passage

afterwards they laughed

as they kicked his skull down the street

silent time.

she stopped watching the filming

as she was distracted by

a chorus of miniaturized characters

peering up from between the cracks

slowly chanting

a constantly changing

litany

they were dressed in

rags reborn from

vestments /

spanish fly in their veins

lips bleeding from

excessive laughter

she received instructions to take them home

feed them and walk them daily

near the ocean

to insure vigorous growth

and spin the liturgy

backwards

and their hearts ring

a finale with the beasts

falling noises

and a sound we can’t discern

no recognition

resting in a basement

music from antique cartoons can be

heard in the room upstairs

from the crackle crackle of the tv

time to nap

but the stairs mock weariness

it’s a time for recognition and friendship

the 2 values that will be burned at the stake

hungry and unsatisfied

rolling with the brazenly violent

eyes rolled upwards no pupils just white just white

focus on big-screen televisions and shoot it out

the churches have a kill credo

creatures rotten with fur

tell me their life stories and

anecdotes

she smiles slowly as she realizes

the door is permanently locked and

she is stuck here

stuck with time and space

a magnum opus for the abandoned

a sniper therapy:

tension large

looming pleasure

watch it walk then

bury itself

deep inside the grass

the meadow bleeds violently

tender caresses have gone away forever

watch

watch

i lay down on the asphalt

the street was abandoned long time ago

a slit from roof to basement

on the exterior front

of the building

a home

became an institution

of fury

cracks hairline pleasure

gentle on my spine

right. there. is. perfect.

they’ll see everything.

they.

countless hours of image washing

monitoring her development

wasteful so they said

if one should happen

a rapid change

feels good

uneasy in her pleasure

feigning arousal as the fabric

slipped slowly into

the fire

she sang silently to herself while

enjoying the sounds that surrounded

them

as they flexed in full sight

of the forbidden ones

all was buried beneath the water

all was blessed by mute priests

all were fingerless as always

finding new uses for their

appendages

a termed fertilization:

flagella and ovum

dancing to little richard

she started to weep

because she heard of a vagina

that had swallowed itself

leaving its lover

to count numbers randomly in the desert

while blindly burying a pulsating heart

left for the children to unearth at

a later date.

meanwhile she continued exploring the

species

a striking female

in transit

the pain and

the swim

tension

large

looming

pleasure

withered

watch it

walk it

watch

wait

because it buries itself

deep inside the grass

the backyard bleeds violently

tender caresses have gone away forever

a nicked straight razor remains

after all this time dressed in song

he lay down on

the asphalt of

the street that was

abandoned a long time ago

a 1 family house

heaves under

water overnight

she listed the diseases

caused by climate

the naughty dog sputtered

at the gunshots –

a home was evacuated

a slit from

roof to basement

windows gouged out

in the exterior front

of the building

a home

became fury

cracks of pleasure

gentle on his spine

they’re currently ramming

the poison

as it flows through

her tongue

out into the street

he was intrigued by the

tight-fitting white nylon

around her eyes

a voice not realized

as bullets were fired

to facilitate surgery

“i felt hands…”

By Peter Marra
http://www.angelferox.com