together they would have been so beautiful
because the women & the artists in attendance loved the corpses,
they were buried alive in front of her
constantly begging: i couldn’t see her in the dark
it was the season for growing new organs
she had a nose for catastrophes
such as an act of crucifixion
such as an act of contrition
strange questions arouse concerning identity,
as strange moods began to shift her face into a twist,
desperately holding the photograph, crying out loud & strong
clutching the string of beads so tightly that her flesh burned
then went wet.
i couldn’t taste her in the dark
the pain of &
the look of
graphic sexual descriptions are hidden by makeup
(in the alley where they hid all night long
after running wild to the depths, far away from the main drag)
mother of glass &
mother of meat
together both deliver a slaughter of letters
along the footpath – to reach & fall
to find
to lose
the two soap operas
to burn-up the
pleasure massacre at the wall of flesh
violence. a thick blur of subtitles.
the climax of the restored persona
for the wounded & the needy.
she knew about the sensations that were starting in her cunt & burning ‘like a rotten root’ &
there were around nine watchers ashamed, but watching
very, very slowly from on top, watching.
after a burn – how intense it had become – it was glorified as martyrdom. mother of glass, her mouth stretched – no sound. leaving.
she had never felt or experienced this fire
massaging her, turning her away completely, her pain was
gone.
an unburned tongue clad in violet petals fell to the earth & was snatched up
by hands unseen
she swooned gripping her ass,
spreading her eyelids,
so she could take it all in.
the curves of her bed glowed, then slowly descended.
she pushed a little to the edge. she had never had these sexual activities before
she had that attention &
had become a glorified miracle as she touched herself.
her image was burned off their eyes. she practiced self-inflicted violence
grinding
grinding
grinding
small hands shaking her off.
i couldn’t feel her in the dark
hands over her back
& running slowly along her cunt.
she could feel it while chanting, it was her life, for the night.
clenching & cumming, but she never felt an orgasm.
her pussy clenched around it. pressure pushing against her finger. a face in sacrifice, & eventually after a release
wrapped around her body moaning in black.
constantly begging: i couldn’t hear her in the dark
wrapped in flaming gauze sent out to the beach
waves gently eased onto her
| a slam | an image | a bang | some burns |
it looks straight into the heart of the electronic tube model straitjacket
i heard her muffled door shut.
she moaned against the mouths
tasting the sudden heat of fluid filling
her body. thrashing like crazy, finished.
she slid my voice into her camera
the image being unable to scratch it, in a tight, black, miniskirt, stockings, out around the sides, her macabre tourist attraction. a corpse presser.
“i love you all,” (her words before departure).
–Poem by Peter Marra Buy Kicks | nike 2015 hyperdunks orange women shoes sale event for Women & Men – Buy Online – Fitforhealth