Thursday, June 4, 2015


everybody's in:
feminists fetishizing
feminism; photoshop's
hustlers pimping
& primping & cropping;
reality suffering
mass delusions & madness
surfacing with each
"like" & "post"
& "tweet" & tit

How lovely
to be romanced
by romance
again. Nature knows
better than all
the asshole
philosophers, pundits
of all things social,
like diseases
& plagues & performance
anxiety: all men want
is to see
under the hood. They want
to know:
how she drives?
How she corners?
How she excels
when the foot
is put to her
and pressed hard
around her neck?
They care not one wit
for reality--
and who can blame them--
when illusion
is the gas
that makes them

It's Eve
who graces
the cover.
You can almost
touch her. Come

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2015

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