Friday, February 20, 2015


to think you lying
on some Brazilian beach
fucking a young man
in the heat,
his dick as engorged
as a donkey's,
while Tanto Tempo
plays in the background
while here,
my tortoise shelled
appendage shrivels further
inside me with every
breeze that blows
the Siberian air
under and through
my armor and plunges
the zero in my bone
down into Hell.

I watch your toes
curl in the sand
to a samba moon
& listen
to all the ways
you say, "Daddy"
to those sons
who struggle
to understand.
I will tell you
that pleasures
will be denied
outside my presence,
but my presence
will be in every absence
you will sense
in every face
not mine,
in every voice
not familiar
and in every corner
turned with
expectation &
Each kiss
a confirmation
of dryness;
each thrust,
a rebuke
of motive.

I'm branded
into your hide
as if you were a cow
who could only give
your milk
to one farmer;
I'm in those secret
places which punishes
language. But
do not despair,
mi amore
for I speak
in many tongues,

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2015

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