A MODEST SOLUTION

Have Ivanka
suck some street dick
& let Tiffany take notes.
Move Eric
& Donny, Jr
into an SRO
& give em 16 bucks
a month in Food Stamps;
force Barron
to choose
another name--
these are easy to do.
What's a little harder,
but promises to be
more interesting,
is moving all "the swells"
on Park, Lex, & 5th Avenues
to Pig Hollow Mississippi,
Crapalachia, the inbred mountains
of Kentucky while shuffling
some pig slop Alabama/Arkansas/Georgia north,
into the main line of Boston,
Philly, Riverdale, Scarsdale,
overturn Montana into Louisiana,
spill the bucket of blood that's Texas
into Maine's aortic valve...
you know, Mongrelize! Blood
doesn't turn up its nose;
let there by blood jets of poetry.
Shake it up baby,
twist&shout Isley Brothers style.

Can this American flag bullshit.
Give it a rest. Stop talking.
It's bad, it's stale, we've seen
this movie. Sleep with a new mate.
Smell a new smell. Taste something
that awakens your tongue.
For god's sake:
Make It New.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

SOMEWHERE TODAY

a little boy will be running
from a death grip
of a father's hands
and a little girl
from his cock.
Somewhere today
that little boy
will begin to marry
his mother
over and over again
and that little girl
will bend
to the black heel
of a German boot.
Our task,
& our terror,
is to unravel
the dream.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

I'VE ORDERED A WOMAN

from Amazon:
used,
dog-eared,
creased,
& underlined.
But you know men:
they make a million mistakes
when it comes to reading
women; they treat
the important trivial
& mistake madness
for difficulties.
I'll read it
myself
and let you know.
Meanwhile,
I choose regular shipping;
I want to have
& want her to have
the juice
of expectation.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

DON'T FUCK WITH ME

Today I read
that they now
can edit/fix/fuck with
whatever is diseased
by altering some genes
in the womb.

Don't.

The world
would die
if this poem
was stillborn.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

IT IS EASY

to make mistakes.
Look
at my life
and yours;
what we see
and never saw,
what math
cannot hope
to compute.

What is obvious
is this:
we are supposed
to get it wrong.

How else
can we go on?

It is why
I fell in love
with books
& ideas.
Never having
any idea
of its meaning.
Never understanding
how many lies
we have
inside us.

What luck
I had
falling
over myself.
What luck
in finding
those at
the 8th Street Bookstore
who were making
the same mistakes
and teaching me
this eager
listener.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

ONCE AGAIN I AM AFRAID THAT I AM DOING THIS ONCE AGAIN AND I AM AFRAID I AM DOING THIS

thinking
I am in a new place
afraid
among old rivals
lost, but once here
in the comfort & confusion
only repetition can bring
bouncing against walls
which hold me
fast or threaten
to throw me out
& in spite
of a brain
too feverish
in its ice grip,
too estranged
by all
that's familiar
I am lulled
into the belief
I've always been here
as it conforms
to my fears
of knowing everything
about nothing
as I place
my dusty satchel
full of stale air
I am overcome with sleep
but I can't sleep
so pace,
& lie down,
& pace,
& lie down,
& pace,
trying to find sleep,
the sleep I've slept
forever.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

JUST SAYIN: YOU WAZ ROBBED

You picked your own pocket.
Shorted yourself.
Wrested defeat
from the jaws
of victory.
Thrown out
at home
by the crooked arm
of reason; grew fat
on lies
until you believed
the truth
of those lies.
You were born
to dance,
my dear,
to trip
into my arms,
to laugh
the demons
into
submission.

I waz robbed,
too; I was 57
once.
The next minute
I was 69.
The way I figure it
you fucked me outta
three years.
And fucked yerself as well.
Put your finger
in time's bellybutton.
Make it baby,
make it green
again...

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017