ripe dreams torrid at any Speed

i’ll live like a criminal although i’ve done no crime
black dope swirl / the bodies were found600815_549328315111178_723457897_n

people say she has the anatomy
of a mass murderer’s car
sizzling curves / smooth blood taste
referenced in many more lives before
we rode a train moving fast / described as spree killers
we’re committed, it’s clearly seen.

she’d do anything to hurt her relatives / suspicious

cops discovered the house and turned.
they were stabbed multiple times in film / shot and killed.

later we lived in that house.
those were moments you never forget.

her actual involvement in the states of ecstasy
explains who was and who was dating.
the gun is a magic wand, it makes
the annoying disappear.
she has a pop-culture sensibility.
she shot point blank.
some events portrayed by climaxing actors that evening:
“touch it she said”
the walls started vibrating
“see… it moves”
it was crawling like a paralytic baby / no progression
voided space

appearance in the background of the girl spree killer –
that woman who murdered a high school dropout.
she was married so she can hide
so she can get lost dreams fused with love and throw them outside
it was a distinctive time

a fallen classic in the bedroom
a numbness of existence
a written killer explained this plot as the film ran on.

a cause of hell for her
a husband gets cold having a limb cut

five beaver books were
found later in a re-enactment
feel the love of the pain lusters

she ate her spouse
in a stew of bones, fat, and planetary tattoos
emotion melded backwards to a point.
splice the vows surgically

boiled fleshy serenade slaughter

insane labored breathing
the touch of shallow cold sweaty breasts
no milk

the children gave her up to
walk acrid streets with
whispering toys for
mommy dreams of mommy

transient like love
clear like a touch
dead doll eyes followed me around
a corpse defined by white chalk arrows draw her in

wait for the screaming
a final test
dancing in front of crucifixes
a captive audience listening to scratchy lp’s on a close n’ play
disgusted children walk slowly back from school
afraid to go home
the late afternoon smells funny to them
asthmatic affections jacked up by ephedrine
the sodium lamps buzz on
as the sidewalk extrudes hands
that grab her feet.

By Peter Marra

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