Wednesday, August 31, 2016

THE ROOFTOPS


have blisters,
fever blisters,
from the fish bowl's cauldrons
beneath their skin.
Conflict
is the pond scum
we live in.
It's the thing
that keeps us
treading water.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016


Monday, August 29, 2016

2 SHIT SANDWICHES:


One,
full of childish morbidities;
the other,
an old shrew
full of meanness and greed;
one born of bigotry
& brownshirts;
the other raised
in Goldwater's piss;
one's dick
a wrinkled spigot;
the other's cunt
a Sahara of madness.

Go ahead,
take a bite.
I dare you.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Friday, August 26, 2016

RUNNING ON EMPTY

For A...
http://bit.ly/2bU0bZ9

Chances are
if you're reading this
you've eaten today,
or will tonight;
you have a roof
over your head;
you can fuck
or be fucked
by someone
of your own
choosing;
you can,
at least,
have a hand
to hold;
you have ways
to go.
Most of those
who I'm supposed to counsel,
who I'm supposed to know
more about living than they do,
have had none of this
and even the hobo bed
they sleep in
tonight
will be fraught
with an evanescent
darkness.
Some wait
for me
to arrive
in the morning,
believing
I have answers or,
at least,
another way
to go,
to get them through
another day;
addicts,
myself included,
have always been
magical thinkers.

But today,
I'm fresh out
of words,
worn thin
from my own
battles
with my own
demons
who keep finding
my new cracks
in old cracks
to slither & slide
through and take possession
of flimsy pretensions.

I would think
it would change:
I'm older;
seemingly
at peace
with this carnival
of Hell that excited me so.
But I'd be wrong
to think that.
I could find fault
with Heaven
not being Heavenly enough.

But tomorrow
I'll go to Chinatown
with a woman
who likes spice.
She knew Arbus
and listened
to Ornette.
She'll sleep over
& leave when I leave
for work Sunday morning.
I'll play Nico for her
& she'll know that too.
Good things
are sometimes
hard to take,
but I'll live.
Yes,
I will.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Thursday, August 25, 2016

SO NICE OF YOU

For A...


to drop by
& be victimized;
to let me
have my way;
to call
the shots.
We know,
of course,
the gun
belongs
to you.
And I
thank you
for
letting me
hold it
& hold on
& sometimes
borrow it.
Yes,
here it is
back--
handle first.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

ALWAYS ON


guard.
Studied.
Composed.
Projecting
something
natural,
unforced,
cool.
Never
at ease.
Watched.
Judged.
Criticized.
Commented on.
Playing
to an audience
somewhere
out there
outside,
not
necessarily
alive
either.

Waiting
for the lights
to dim
if not
go out.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Sunday, August 21, 2016

YOU SHOULDN'T DO THAT

For A...


to me
on Skype--
or in person
for that matter
--without telling me
to have the paddles
at the ready.
You know
I'm old
& easily
aroused.

Same time
tomorrow?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Thursday, August 18, 2016

CONEY ISLAND BABY

This poem is A's...

"If they had no madness in them, they were useless; genius doesn't speak with the limited tongue of sense."
--C.E. Morgan

A nitrous oxide summer.
Slick & honeyed mouths
of cotton candy, girl pink
& fushcia, yellows/blues/reds,
candy apples caramel thick
on gooey sticks; pavement
suction cupping sneakers;
a hiss of franks
charring & popping juices;
sweet salt twisting
nipples & noses.
Rats, in the moist sand,
sticking their whiskers
into bags of Nathan's fries.

I was traveling
into a dark wood,
around the arms
of sailors
& their girls,
crisscrossing a huckster's moan
inviting bravery born
in a man's bone
& the pitch of nickels & quarters--
an alchemist's delight
in life's chances
& chances taken--
hyped-up & erect
against the steely teeth
of zippers.

Night is not dark,
but forgiving.
Boardwalks are lenient.
Songs are simple
laments of longing.
Each wave,
a sensation
brokered
by a semicolon.
I was lost
& still am.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016