Monday, July 31, 2017

IT IS EASY


to make mistakes.
Look
at my life
and yours;
what we see
and never saw,
what math
cannot hope
to compute.

What is obvious
is this:
we are supposed
to get it wrong.

How else
can we go on?

It is why
I fell in love
with books
& ideas.
Never having
any idea
of its meaning.
Never understanding
how many lies
we have
inside us.

What luck
I had
falling
over myself.
What luck
in finding
those at
the 8th Street Bookstore
who were making
the same mistakes
and teaching me
this eager
listener.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Thursday, July 6, 2017

ONCE AGAIN I AM AFRAID THAT I AM DOING THIS ONCE AGAIN AND I AM AFRAID I AM DOING THIS


thinking
I am in a new place
afraid
among old rivals
lost, but once here
in the comfort & confusion
only repetition can bring
bouncing against walls
which hold me
fast or threaten
to throw me out
& in spite
of a brain
too feverish
in its ice grip,
too estranged
by all
that's familiar
I am lulled
into the belief
I've always been here
as it conforms
to my fears
of knowing everything
about nothing
as I place
my dusty satchel
full of stale air
I am overcome with sleep
but I can't sleep
so pace,
& lie down,
& pace,
& lie down,
& pace,
trying to find sleep,
the sleep I've slept
forever.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

JUST SAYIN: YOU WAZ ROBBED


You picked your own pocket.
Shorted yourself.
Wrested defeat
from the jaws
of victory.
Thrown out
at home
by the crooked arm
of reason; grew fat
on lies
until you believed
the truth
of those lies.
You were born
to dance,
my dear,
to trip
into my arms,
to laugh
the demons
into
submission.

I waz robbed,
too; I was 57
once.
The next minute
I was 69.
The way I figure it
you fucked me outta
three years.
And fucked yerself as well.
Put your finger
in time's bellybutton.
Make it baby,
make it green
again...

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017