I HAD A LONG TALK

with my conscience:
It was time
to break-up
we agreed
for the sake
of both of us.

We're not stupid.

We know
we're going
to be tempted
to reconcile,
to fuck each other
again;
one last fuck
for old time's sake.
We know
we're going to be
sorely tested.

But we know,
bottom line,
we ain't no good
for each other.

How we split
the kids
and the pad
is anybody's
guess.

And
that fuckin book
is mine.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

DONTCHA JUST HATE IT

when birthdays,
or anniversaries,
deaths and marriages,
Christmas or sickness,
is comin round
and the person you just had
a fight with,
a parting of the ways with,
a sickness that infests your soul with,
a hole that dug deep with,
in your heart with,
past the point
of exasperation with,
so that if you never see them again with,
or talk with,
or sleep in that trickster mind of yours with,
(that prick)
(that cunt)
is too soon
and is soon
comin up?

Fuck
being madly in love.
Fuck being
just mad.
Just fuck
being.

No,
you say,
I ain't doin it--
Fuckem;
Fuckher;
I ain't callin
or writtin
or sendin any
goddamn thing
his or her
goddamn way.
It's better
that it's over
and they should know that;
they need to be trained
to know that.
It's over,
it's kinder
it's better
really better
for both of us but
especially me.
They had their goddamn chance,
more than a chance
I gave them
to change.
If they don't wanna change,
fuck them,
it's on them,
it's over them,
above them
around them
and through them.

They'll survive.
Everyone survives.
(But maybe...)
No, fuck that.
They'll survive.
And I'll survive.
And I'll survive
better and be better
for it.
(But maybe...)
Fuck that
and fuck you.
(But...)
I don't give a shit;
they're cruel and selfish
and narcissistic; stupid
really. Dumb.
They can be so thick.
Goddamn dense.
They don't deserve a prize
like me; they piss on it,
break it,
casually toss it
away, shit on it
and wipe their ass
with my love.
Enough.
They're impossible,
nutty
crazy
neurotic
probably psychotic
and expect me to just go along
to get along--
soft easy me
making compromises
so often I don't know
who me is
anymore.

No,
I must be strong,
resist it,
and it will pass
and I'll be free
of him
of her
of it;
I will be free--if
I get by the next few weeks,
maybe month.
They'll learn,
they'll learn.
I'm no one
to trifle with.

Only the laughing bones
remain beside the trestle
that brought the two lovebirds
nesting. The bodies gather
rigor, the smiles frozen.
And somewhere
in the distant hills
a gospel singer moans
for her lost congruents.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013

MY LITTLE BABY

The Betty Poems

started work yesterday
after being holed-up
in bed
in a fetal position
sucking on a bottle
for the past year.
She's smart,
beautiful,
and crazy--
much like
the best fucks are.
It seems
I attract
those kinds.
I've lived
an interesting life.

I wanted to call her,
see how it went,
congratulate
her courage,
a moment of triumph
in a world of defeats
for even getting out of bed
after fifty-two years
of kicking the shit
out of herself
and other enemies.
But I didn't.
I know
that most of us
need a lover--
more than a family
more than a friend
more than a god
--to do that.
She'd never ask,
and I'd never offer.
We'd just had a fight--
one of many--
fuck you
fuck you
and fuck you.
Each of us
too proud
and stupid
and determined
to protect
our acre
of hell.

Love
and hate
are mad hot;
they crackle
across the space
of two pillows
or through those merciless wires
and immediate ether world
of space between Toronto
and New York City
as close
as breath;
once evidence
is gathered
it bludgeons
the best
of us.

Living
is so very difficult
and loving
through the forests
of deception and pain
so impossibly
important.
I've yet
to learn
how.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013