BORN WHITE

I was crazy
but never worried
about being stopped
or frisked or shot
dead by the boys
in blue when nuzzling
a girl at two or three
in the morning
or pretending
I was tough
with a Coney Island crew.
Even when
I was carrying
reefer or dope
on a black block
I was more afraid
of being ripped-off
then shot by a white cop, who,
was more afraid than I was.
I had ownership
of the country
& the world.
To me
it was a bad break
to be born black;
it allowed me
to steal
their music,
their colors,
their magic and
their pain. I took
what served me
with both hands
& gave them
lip service
or silence.
I did with them
only what I wanted,
which amounted to
a spectator sport.

Nakedness needs
to be bled; the cut
needs prayer.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

THE FULLER THE LIPS

http://bit.ly/29rfvM1

the more traps they set
or fall into; yours
is as ripe as a Georgia peach
in the fat heat of August.
My face still drips
with your juice; my hands
sticky as an ice cream cone
in the hands of a child
who does not know that time
exists.
God, like me
& your father,
is a fiendish
romantic, a comedic genius
falling all over ourselves
to get next to a chilly woman
who heats her burner
with a Memphis beat.

I don't mind your lying
as long as you're telling me your truth;
I don't mind the wind teaching a song
how to sing; I don't mind the distance
as long as you keep me near.
I open your secrets
with a carelessness
born of fever &
forgetfulness.

I touch all your places
that I remember. And
don't mind inventing
more lies
to fatten
in the sun.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

4th OF JULY, 2016 POSTMORTUM

I heard the rain fucking
with Macy's fireworks
on Manhattan's east side
last night, as my air-conditioner
whirred and whined. I had shut
the windows tight & locked the door,
but something is always trying
to get in to your safety
no matter how guarded you are.
That something is working
towards you without fear
or distractions.

I didn't feel bad
for those millions
standing asshole to elbow
waiting for the celebration
of a country that has lost
its way. Crowds
have always terrified me.

So much of the city
had abandoned me
and what was left
scanned the heavens.
The rain's rhythm
soothed me.
Then it was over:
loud booms to my east
lasting twenty minutes
or so. A few
lightening flashes.
A few o's & ah's & oh's
and then it was over.

I made it thru
another holiday,
another reason
to celebrate
an illusion.
I have plenty
left & tomorrow
is another day.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

IF I GOT YOU

so wrong,
why
are you
right
here?

A mistake
of nature?
Hardly,
my dear;
rather
a melding
of illness'.
Call it
Mother
Nature
limiting
the destruction.

I kinda like that.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

A PROPITIOUS DAY

Blood moons
& high tides.

Gun shots
tomorrow.

Heart attacks
& marriage
21 & 22 years ago
respectively.

Today,
a Jewish gypsy
told my fortune
and made me feel guilty
about my future.

In celebration
I made out
this month's
checks:
I want to know
exactly
how free
I am.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

SOMEBODY FROM MAURITIUS

rang my bell
in the middle of the night
a hundred & twenty-one times,
but I was sleeping--
didn't hear a fucking thing
'til this morning,
when I saw someone
went fucking crazy
on my poetry blog.
I didn't know
where Mauritius is
until I Googled it:
Africa, fucking Africa,
very beautiful.
Who is it?
Male or female?
Female, I hope.
So much interest
should not go
unrewarded...
& had to stop
myself: Savage,
I said, take it
easy; you're a good writer,
but a fucking dreadful human.
It was then
I picked-up
this pen...
& there
you have it.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

RESISTANCE

I've been trying
to write a poem
about the love
of my life
for days now.
The page,
my fingers,
my brain,
says: FUCK YOU.

(Hey,
that works;
that's
the poem...

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016