Fascination

moon. ripped sheets. blank face. at the base of the Wonder Wheel it seems so easy but that was a very long time ago Fascination. children waiting wanting playing fascination She’s lying on her back a permanent resident of the Terminal Hotel clad in black dreams burnt clouds and an electric corset. torn skies to taste embryos ruptured to fear I’m tied to the base of the Cyclone with smooth lines of electric bulbs a hissing dream Dante's Inferno fast dark scream the women in pain on the outside behind her: demons slow smoke pale wet irises crucifix atop the parachute ride

time groove in the doll hospital

screaming under water while waiting in the doll hospital for that tray of silent eyes. violent - white - platinum a lust for jean harlow a time groove for theda bara on the prowl for a corpse’s sin of 1930’s hollywood . we watched our mutations burning under an iconic sign as they shouldered us with pleasures plucking us from darkness white burning black it was the sound of barbed wires being laced for a branding night cries telling her about torn eruptions a silence. the kind that terrifies, the type the collision warned us about. from the sound of the autos burning, the sounds of the sky weeping, laughter spun backwards then shot out once more. my thoughts about her floated gently past the window inside a globe of smoke. as i drank liquids, the music was playing but white noise wrapped around our eyes, so i couldn’t decipher the tune. a confession is what you’re waiting for: recurrent sexual spouses a whispered story outside: “A female bat (diaemus youngi) was injured in flight. She was found by a kindly old man. He nursed her back to health. As she recovered he tattooed her wings with scenes from church stained glass windows, so that she was irradiated in flight. Roentgen fury - gamma ray sympathy. Her rodent face beamed proudly.” an airplane from childhood carrying scared passengers crashes. we told each other about rest and sleep. then she fell silent waiting for a deep vendetta. (eyes void of vision stealing our shadows time to burn the automobiles as she receives tattoos on her eyelids)

a box cutter species

a clOne a time to feed the draining feeling. watched so closely for a message. listen and wait in a room. across the hall: another room spiral sleep finished in another room time to walk into a hermitage to see somnambulists at play with a sharp blades aftertaste basement in parallel a zombie songstress crouched in the corner watching the trapped sliced faces that she had carved into the floor lick her legs then her breasts up down shivering quivering shadows made her feel better. a voided heart and some secret bullets reminded her of once and then she was surprised when the light came on she was surprised when the television broke flying was impossible

Annette Funicello

The smoke and the pleasure can’t be silent. The problem is that these veins are not good. Hide them behind blocks while A body washed up - a song for the beach is turned inside out. The frightened virgins drifted slowly downstream Annette Funicello and i will burn some tarot cards in 1962 – A fire replenished every ½ hr. A party with them. The wives came knowing each other. A cancer of bikinis do a vigorous swim at sundown. But according to law enforcement officials, They had a photographer and a one-time contestant. They came to our room and Brought most of death row with them. I brought her to test the late 1970s. She has been in and out. She took a long hard look And kicked the tv screen. They’ll bleed to death in a short time. (electrical wires save them for now) It was your mom most likely on the blood splattered walls. A leak in the procedure caused many deaths

whispered assassin

it’s wrapped in a membrane and lays on a couch. while it’s barely breathing it floats towards the ceiling and stops halfway as the apse bleeds down an induction coil. they were copper wire wound now it was replaced as she sat and smiled defiantly while the music explodes around her she looks up in wonder counts the number of times her gold earrings shock her. counts the number of times her tongues are coated in bitterness counts the number of times that a shallow feeling chases her. a collapse. no more escaping from pale hands she is deconstructed in the tidal pool under the purple ripped sky black bubbles cry. vacuum air swallowing her. water erases what happened. soft sounds carry the tale of the beasts after death that kiss her lips gently. it’s time for a silent movie under the hollywood sign and time to open the red scream.

Peter Marra

Poems

Past Issues

Biography

His poems explore alienation, sex, love, addiction, the havoc that secrets can wreak and obsessions often recounted in an oneiric filmic haze. He has either been published in or has work forthcoming in Caper Literary Journal, amphibi.us, Yes Poetry, Maintenant 4, Beatnik, Crash, Danse Macabre, Clutching At Straws, O Sweet Flowery Roses, Breadcrumb Scabs, Carcinogenic, The Vein and Calliope Nerve. He is currently constructing his first collection of poems.