Saturday, November 15, 2014

THANKS


to my last
girlfriend
I'm able
to explore
a woman's pussy
like
a leisurely
lepidopterist;
studying
the wings
& the colors:
all rectangles,
squares, ovals,
marveling
how they move
& pulsate,
emitting sweetness
& smells
as they groove
to their own
rhythm
& beat;
how they preen
& announce
themselves.
How wonderful
each to each;
how marvelous
to notate
& record
at this age
now.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Saturday, November 1, 2014

THE FLIP-SIDE


of pleasure/pain
is what interests
me. The hum
of the everyday
puts me to sleep.
I've learned
nothing
from peaceful
or good
things. I've enjoyed
them
at times
but shake-off
the common
for the chaotic
and ugly
every time.

Early last week
was a nightmare.
I was brutalized
by merely living
in this world.
Then came friends
from above
the border
& Carmen
at The Met;
Coney Island
& Totonno's;
sales leading
to safety
for another
month.

All through
this Janus faced
life, I've been
cooking
with words...a hundred fucking pages,
and counting.
Enough
to send
out
to Cynthia
which
I did.
Today she called.
A Saturday.
Terrific,
she said,
I'll rep it
when you finish,
so finish.

I thought I'd stop
smoking
but I won't. Why fuck
with the gods
now?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

HONEY, I'M HOME,


I'd say,
to the walls.
And, I'd add,
I had a motherfucker
of a day.
I wanted
to put my fist
through every motherfucker
I met
or spoke to--especially
my prick of a boss.

At times
you need a hedge,
a sanctuary,
against the madness
outside
your front door,
or inside
the mosquito net
of flesh
you think
protects & wards off,
but instead flaps
against
the broken
spring.

Not all the time,
mind you,
but right
now.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Sunday, October 26, 2014

THE WORDS


come when
they want;
they have
their own
personality
for and against
what the struggling
heart tries to assert
in the most
in
art
ic
ulate
times.

If
you're any good,
it's like trying
to control
your bowels.
Forget it.
You need
to understand
nothing;
it will come
easily or
with much
pain. Either way
you'll feel it
when it does.
Or if you don't
or never do again--
that's alright
too.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Monday, October 13, 2014

THE POEM


has been going
into the novel
I'm working on;
it's a different
animal; it demands
more attention
instead of
the short bursts
of libido or id
that informs
the other.

The poem is
a sweeter smelling
fart, if you will;
it's a more perfect
ejaculation
and keeps the howl
to a minimum;
it yelps & whimpers
& whines within
discernible borders.

The novel
is messy,
even when
your aim
is also poetry
but of a different sort--
more like a beer shit,
messy and inclined
to get you and whoever
gets close
dirty
& befouled.

At my age
it is difficult
to do both
and so, for now,
unless it insists,
I'll struggle
with the longer
& fatter shit.

One has to
make a call,
& this one
was mine.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Thursday, October 9, 2014

WINNING THE NOBEL


They called up
Norman Savage
this morning
and told him
he'd won
The Nobel.
"Getthefuckouttahere,"
he replied
and went back
to sleep.

It's why
he won.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

Monday, October 6, 2014

LIKE A KID


Apartment cleaned.
Sneakers shined.
Jacket & pant pressed.
Took a haircut.
Shaved.
Am even thinking
about cologne
for tonight,
tomorrow,
Thursday
& Friday--
dinner, dinner,
dinner & The Vanguard,
dinner & the blues,
--all to celebrate
being on The Savannah
for 67 years
and still hunting
and still
being hunted.

It still seems
so sudden.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014