I STUCK

to her neurosis
like a velcro strip--
no matter
how many times
I tried
to extricate
my foot
from my mouth,
or her ass,
it held fast.
I pulled
every muscle
in my goddamn body
and have been
in traction
for the past
three years.

So much
for therapy!

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018

WHAT WAS BETTER

than stealing
an afternoon
from school,
playing hooky
in anybody's crib
whose parents
were gone or
couldn't give a fuck?
Somebody
always had some reefer;
Somebody
had a fistful of Black Beauties;
Somebody
had a down or two;
Somebody
brought a pint;
And everybody
had a pack of Bambu.
You had vinyl
or an FM radio.
Everybody posed.
Everybody was cute.
Everybody was handsome.
Everybody was experienced.
Everything revolved
around us.
We yak yak yaked
up an afternoon,
scrawled our own
hieroglyphics on rolled parchment,
tongues outpacing words,
plans fevered by amnesia,
outstripping notions of resources.

And what was worse
than our fears
catching up
to our coming down
and going home
to arguments
around dinner tables,
slaps & accusations;
unable to eat
from the speed;
thick with coats
residue & saliva
& dreams shaped
like a coffin
of the mouth.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018

PAUL BLACKBURN

smoked Luckies,
drank whiskey
100 proof,
& ogled jailbait
on Coney Island boardwalks
& in slant-eyed city saloons.
We got along fine
until the Luckies killed him
in '71 as
they're killing me in 2018,
but it was all good then.
Hell of a poet,
too.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018

EACH MOMENT

has its own brain.
And each moment knows
what you want
to see
& what you can't.
How it knows
is life's mystery.
Each moment
has no fear
of ever
being found
out.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018

IT WOULD BE SILLY

One For the Old Geezers

to try
& lie
to you
now.
You know
I'll try.
I know
I'll try.
I promise
to resist.

Some
have noticed
a diminishment
of poems
of late.
Some
have even
inquired.
No,
I tell them,
it's the gods
that destroy
& make men mad,
not I. I am ready
I assure them
and am merely
waiting like any
good Christian
to receive
what is given.
I tell them,
take heart,
I still want to fuck
every woman I see,
& more importantly,
they want to still fuck me.
(I'm sure they know,
as I do,
that's only half true).
Yes, I still imagine
nipples naked with need
of varying length
& sweetness & color;
yes, I still taste
different heated nectars of emissions.

And the words still come
but slower; better,
perhaps, but slower.
And memories perfect
in their lies, pile up
on runways waiting
for this infernal fog to lift
but stubbornly clings
to the sides of wings preventing
full flight:
fully in control of exceleration,
the Porsche obeying my instincts,
leaning into a corner at fifty,
a magician's inner stroke
of light's genius;
the proper word to light
the inner demons of a cueball
& bank life's mystery & madness--
a sweet narcissism
of self-serving
excellence.

There will be
more poems,
good & bad
after this;
how many
is not for me
to say.
I'm sure
"slowing down"
is an "art"
too, but one
I haven't
mastered
yet.
I've been too busy
trying to work
on it.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018

OVERNIGHT

the rivers freeze
& the sand deepens.
Once, you were able
to do things
like tie shoelaces
without thinking
& now
you would prefer
not to think,
but have to.
There's nothing
to be done
but adjust
constantly.
I could offer advice
but like myself
you wouldn't take it.
This is the wind
from vacant lots,
the straw in the hair
of heros.
These are words
like tombstones
in the mouths
of mumblers.
Everything
is a beginning
of something.
Everything
is an end
to something
that came before.
There is little to be done
with the dead skin
except remember
how vicious
& vibrant
we once
were.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018

THE BRAND SPANKING NEW STRATEGY FOR THE CRANKY OLD DOPE GAME

Yes, young man, what can I do for you?
the candy store owner asked the bright-eyed boy.

I'd like, let's see--
(his eyes were salivating)
--a few packs of those M&M's,
10 Bazooka Joe's,
& 2 bags of Dr. Death.

OK son, that's going to be 20 dollars for the M&M's,
10 for the Bazooka Joe's,
& 50 cents for the good Dr.

The boy fished out the bills,
counted them off
& forked them over.

Now remember son,
take the gum
out yer mouth
before you honk-up
the Dr. Death.

I will, Mr. Fishbein, see ya.

See ya, Harry, and say hello
to your parents for me and
that cute little sister of yours.

Mr. Fishbein was a perv,
but he always had the goods.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018