Trois by Peter Marra

Gris-gris Double Friction

a mexican guitarist plays in the subway car
gets out at the next stop
falls to the track
in the shadows of his illness.

moth in subway car
lands on man’s bandana.
early morning: large
blood clot on a deserted platform.
wings flutter slightly.
red rivulets reach out to speak

down a street night
neon flesh sliced in half
going to bed / tonguing with leaves of glass
walking out into sound

hillbillies and wives shot down / shot up

sacred texts to watch out for
walk away walk away walk away

a silence for the swamp girls with their
lustful minutes and a boneless

corpse from madness in her backyard

eyes bleed
retinas spin
cornea explodes
watched the face
transplanted to the clouds
looking down now
at the grey snow
burning holes
in the windows
explores.
slick mice
time is out
time is off
the wall twists frequently and
a trap
we walk quickly to the heartbreak dance
so we can dance slowly then lie down
beat
beat
beat
against the wall

her heart cries slowly
comes to rest
on the concrete
 

Preacher

Watching the mommy
breastfeeding her child
as the last gospel
explodes from her heart

Watching the light
from the boulevard
cascade and ricochet
through the window onto the table

Watching the atomic faces
swoop down slowly alight on her spine
take root and cringe

Watching the body
fall to the floor
tremble then stop
waiting for the chalk line

Watching the night come
rising of the moon
laughing behind doors
as the plaster crumbles red

Neuron

Iron
sheets.

Sweat and blood coursing

The ganglion tightens around the bed,
Trapping

the
Sleeping shadow.

The glow of the glass gas tubes and

White noise massaging
the folds of the skull

Iron sheets and
Iron cages

And the cracked window.

Touch the leather glass

The nightingale frightens.

Iron sheets.

Frying
blood.

Claws
clutch at the figure

Reminders
and remainders.

The ganglion tightens around the house,
Trapping

the
Sleeping shadow.

Mom and dad
Hurt.

Sperm dancing
through
the dark light
sighing
as
it
comes to rest.

Watch.

She bends
down and
cries and
watches.

By Peter Marra

www.angelferox.com

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The Lodge

Part one:

 A highway bends over the horizon.
 A walk through the entrance.

Judges sit at a long table
that vibrates from the music.

Fitful playthings touch you ever so gently
closing the windows

drawing the moldy curtains
they’re still accusing outdoors.

A rusty iron odor engages the viewers
Inside the cabin.

They performed surgery outside and
she enjoyed the feeling.

Given a new life
She breathes death into her followers

Final.

Next door the crave engine convulsed
with a female.

Part two:

A doll smiled.

A round room
semicircle window
silhouettes reflected

touch
touch
them

Part three:
slinky

slinky women scream
while dancing
wrapped in
shadows’ times
wood paneled fears / time to break out
rancid cats dancing
on her forehead

watch with delight
while the hangman’s card
quietly placed in
Persephone’s mouth is split
bodies here and there watch her sit
while she counts her fingers
a teaserama for the toy box
time to talk to the red women

outside is a red black sky

The final tornadoes touch down.

By Peter Marra

http://www.angelferox.com