SEX IS SUICIDE

if you happen to be male
and weigh less than a lightbulb
and a little red Kaluta
in the thrall of early September
when they rock 'n roll
on their search & destroy mission
with every Kalutaette as they can
for up to 14 hours at a time,
fucking their brains out
as they were known to say,
using sperm stored since summer's end
& depleting huge amounts of testosterone & corticosteroids
in their best imitation of Chinese rabbits
until their guts become ulcerated
& explode:
Cause of Death: Exhaustion.

But they died happy:
No after-sex phone calls,
No deciding on a name for the kids
& no need to support them or the ol' lady;
no in-laws to visit on Sunday
when traffic is the heaviest,
no listening to office betrayals
or how Nipsy or Bipsy or Tipsy
fucked up at school,
and no thought,
should things go south,
of alimony to shoulder--
just exhaustion,
that blissful after-sex sense
of oblivion, of coming
& going all
in the same stroke--something
most men
would die for.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2019

FOUR SEX POEMS

A GOOD DAY

wet morning;
slip-
slosh utterances;
a good day
to fuck
all day,
(whew!)

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1965

A WOMAN LIKE IRON

I couldn't make it
with the German chick; the kind
that just allows herself
to rub her tits in front of ya
and laugh
so I left
early
and grabbed a piece
of America
on the ferry, $1.25
for her now;
the only accessible woman
whose price
goes up
with age.

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1966

SOUNDS HEARD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,
ohmygodIfeel so good, so happy, so
secure, so...
Whyshouldn'tyafeelthatway,
ain't I
yer mother?

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1967

SIMPLIFICATION, (LIKE CHESS)

My life is complicated,
she said.
Yeah,
but I only got one dick,
I countered.

Norman Savage
Coney Island, 1968