For my girl Puma Perl
to feel guilty.
Don't ask me why
that is--
it just is.
And so
I don't want to do anything
until this perplexing mood
goes away,
sucked-up
by my natural stream
of venom
& recriminations;
until the vileness
of pleasantries
are denied
an easy passport
into the bloodstream
of pernicious doubt--
where all good poems live;
until I feel
normal again.
Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2019
Showing posts with label Bad Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bad Poems. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)