RUNNING ON EMPTY

For A...
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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