Friday, December 6, 2013


The Betty Poems

for imbeciles,
for hucksters, hustlers,
promoters, sellers,
and those who have sniffed
from love's tailpipes,
the family fumes,
to fall
under their spell.

It's the season
for virgins
to say, "maybe
I should
give it up;"
a time for cocks men
to push
into territories
uncrossed, unblemished;
it is a time
for theft, a time
of not enough.

I've known this.
You've known this.
I want to see you
skate; I want to hear you
sing carols
and watch the bubble
frost outside
your mouth float
that crazy loving
only stoppered by life itself
I want you to find
you waiting
to begin
and believe
that what you thought
harbored away, goo and gunk
to what pumps
your heart,
your achingly
beautiful heart,
is simply
not so.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013

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