Tuesday, April 18, 2017

SHE WAS A PROFESSOR


of the springs; a doctorate
between the sheets.
She wrote her thesis
on positions &
the various openings
of pleasure.
I, at the time,
was a quick study
but a quicker shooter.
She gave me
an "incomplete,"
and I never
made up
the work.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Sunday, April 16, 2017

DOMINATION


Stick it in my ass,
she said.
Huh? I replied.
Hurry,
put it in there.
I dunno,
I wavered.
She was a smelly old whore
full of promise
to this fifteen year old
idiot full
of doubt.
I had no idea then
that one of us
was really full
of shit.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Saturday, April 15, 2017

EASTER, 2017


Christ rose,
opened his eyes,
looked around,
& went back
to being dead.
Fuck this,
he said,
& rolled over
to find
the cold side
of the pillow.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

THE CHEEKS OF HER ASS APPEARS


an inch below
her short
shorts.
It's supposed
to enchant or
entice; it's supposed
to be sexy, but this
escapes me.
I'm unusual,
I admit.
I'm attracted
to scars
& scowls;
the turn
of ankle
or phrase;
a Dada depression
or suicidal
surrealism.

I like my women dressed.
What happens later,
behind the curtain
is Greek
to me.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

NIPPLE WEATHER


encourages
the urges
of infants
in bodies
of men
propelling mouths
towards milky heads
of nails
in this jack-hammer
civilization...

It nearly broke eighty today
with more heat, more baby talk,
more drool
coming
tomorrow.
Evolution
through fabric.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Thursday, April 6, 2017

SURRENDER,


my dear. Hoist
the white flag
and engage
the beast.
The beast
who marvels
at your diseased
heart and
the coarseness
of your peasant soul.

I promise
we'll waltz
to Brahms
and serve
each other's
flesh in a
Freudian hothouse.

The creature
straddles a fence
and all the boats
point west.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Monday, April 3, 2017

SOMEBODY


has to be love starved
and somebody has to inject
formaldehyde into the veins
of corpses. Somebody
has to be in Alberta
looking for a dried twig
while somebody is looking
for a drink
in an SRO in LA.
Somebody has to have dialysis
tomorrow morning and somebody
is pissing honey tonight.
Somebody will wake up in Paris
and think it's Greenwich Village
and somebody will wake
in Greenwich Village and think
it's hell.
Somebody will be defeated soon
and somebody will be lucky rich
and somebody will turn dance
into defeat while somebody hunts
little girls in Bushwick.

We fill-up our space
with what is given. I've worked
the apple cart. My horse huffed
and shat on Houston Street. I've
held a muffler to my throat
against the East River winds.
I've seen streets cobbled
against the hooves. I am
somebody when I'm inside
someone, but someone, a somebody,
when not knowing who that somebody
is. The fracture
is love.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017