I DIDN'T KNOW WHO I WAS

and so decided
to be both
intellect
& gangster,
obedient son
& overt lunatic;
a fear &
fearlessness
sitting anxiously
yet comfortably
on the electrified fence,
upon which
I sat.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

THE NEW NEW STRATEGY ON THE OLD OLD DOPE GAME

And young man, Izzy the candy-store owner asked,
what can I do for you today?

I'd like, (my eyes were salivating,
watering the treats below them), I'd like,
let's see, hmmm, a few packs of M&M's,
nuts please, 10 Bazooka Joe's,...
& 2 bags of Dr. Death...

Harry, please, I can't,
your father would kill...

Don't be an idiot, Iz.
I got 500 here. Cash.

That's on top of the candy?

Of course--you old gonif.

It's 20 for the M&M's,
20 for the Bazooka Joe's,
& 50 cents for the good Doctor...

What's with the 50 cents?

Labor--somebody's got to put it in the bag, no?
And Harry, it's strong--don't forget
take the gum out of your mouth before...

Yeah, yeah, OK.

Izzy went to the back & returned with the doctor;
a picture of Marcus Welby on the bag.

Thanks, Iz.

Don't forget to say hello to your folks.

Iz, please...

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

MY PLANKTONIC MEMORIES

are oiled up

& waiting

to be caught

on this,

my merry-go-round,

of fear.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

A YEAR AGO TO THE DAY

I felt so goddamned good
I was riddled with guilt.
Don't ask me why
that was,
it just was.
And so
I didn't want to do anything,
(lest I jinx it),
until this strange mood
of feeling good
evaporated,
went away,
sucked up,
by my more natural stream
of venom
& recriminations;
until the vileness
of pleasntries
were denied
an easy passport
into my bloodstream
of doubt--
where all good poems live;
until I felt
normal again.

It figures
that today
was the day
I came across
whatever this is--
& will post it
against my better judgement
because, once again,
I'm feeling good
despite this topsy-turvy world
we're spinning on.
But soon
I will be unable
to call my shots:
eight ball, corner pocket...
Ya see,
see what I mean?
Simple, eh?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

DAYS AS STALE AS MONTHS OLD BREAD

as flat as a busted tire
and as predictable as worry
sits above the drippings
of a black bile
congealing on the hardwood floor
under me as I wait...and wait...
and wait for a fucking word
to show up.
Any word would do.
But obviously, they're better at hiding
then I am at seeking, and they know
how easily I discourage.
I decide to give up on the ineffable
lowering my gaze to the bellybutton,
intestine, naked balls & hairy ones,
fingernails & eyelashes, timecards & taxes,
strike one, and two, and three, first
& third, mouths, lungs, hearts, teeth
biting & teeth encased in glass,
tongues wagging or stuttering or silent,
and suddenly
I'm so fucking weary and wonder,
can I be the only one?
I would like my world
to be meaty & tempestuous
instead of picayune & vicious.
Let the seat that cradles my ass
be hot & anxious allowing roots
carrying the terrors of Callas
& the sorrows of Pavorotti
into my unflinching pen
writing words bloodsoaked
and blasphemous to the few
pockmarked souls sitting
in the stew
of their own making.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

THE OSCARS

I've not gone
to see a movie
in twenty years.
Most new movies,
like new songs & music,
escapes me.
But I tune in
for those golden statues
and the graceful hands
who fondle & covet them.
I still love movies,
but what I crave
are cleavages,
long finely crafted legs
& a body that stops
at my eye's edge.

I love that as much
as a well crafted phrase.

God's wheel of roulette
hitting a double zero.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

GETTING STRAIGHT IN A WORLD OF CROOKED DREAMS

takes an awful amount of work--
and I should know.
For over half a century--off
and on--I've sought & found myself
in the white lady's embrace,
but it wasn't easy.
We junkies are said to be a lazy lot,
by those Mayflower noses
who sniff our detached delinquency
with disdain, but our lives spent
in pursuit of heavenly abstractions
belie that.

Pretty much,
it's a sunup to sundown gig:
You ain't got it, ya have ta get it;
ya get it, you have ta use it;
ya use it, ya have ta have more...
and more...
and more...
unless ya have money & connects up the ass,
but even then other predators lurk--
just ask Michael or Prince or Seymour.

Usually, we must go amidst the savages
before Morpheus is tightly tucked
in your pocket, or sock, or under the balls,
before we get to our sanctity
to take him out & play; before he curls
against our thirsty cells; before
we can feel alright & safe
in a world not of our own making,
we first need get out the bellows,
and anvil, and hammer to straighten
a steel pretzel soul into
its reptilian progenitor who then
can dial a number or slither out
to cop...and cure.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020