THE BONES OF GRATITUDE

Most men marry
the first woman
that fucked them
for no money
not knowing
that hookers
were the better
and more honest
catch.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2011

THERE IS MAGIC

in your mind's wilderness
whether in forests
or the gutter magic of cities,
provided you're alone,
most alone,
listening
to the winds wail
of laughter, or the screaming
tears of a siren;
you can never outlive yourself,
but you can cheat death
a little; you can fuck
with the gods provided
you make them laugh
and shake their heads
at your folly;
make them bestow some grace
despite your meanness
and narrowness of understanding.

the gods coursed in my veins
or sat next to me
in my gin mill stew;
they gave me women
who loved me despite
my stupidity
and lack of civility
and even now,
(though not too often),
they knock,
sometimes late,
sometimes early,
to bring silliness
to a body
and being
that should have
long before
stopped
but
didn't.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2011

HEMINGWAY

made me cry
in junior high school;
it was the last time
I read him.

I think I'm ready
to take him
now.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2011

"FUCK YOU" MONEY

At times,
the thought of having "FUCK YOU" money
intoxicated me.
Usually,
I was broke
or intoxicated.
Still,
it warmed me
like a kitten
curled up
around and inside
a dope sick brain.
It comforted me
before it grew
into a cat
and became
itself.

That love rush
of anger
before walking
out of a job
or a woman
is circumscribed
by age.
I've done it
at twenty
and at sixty.
It's the same deal
as it was for Huxley
when he spoke
of genius:
"any man can be a genius
at twenty-five,
at fifty it takes some doing."
Maybe
I'm still strong
or more possibly
still stupid,
but I'm still broke
and I still
walk.

Batter up.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2011

YOU CAN'T KICK LOVE

as if it were dope
or booze or coke
or reefer or pills
or money or any other thing
that's dead.
It takes more
than work
or incarceration
or substitutions
or institutions
involuntary
or chosen.
It doesn't leave
through the same doors
that piss or shit travels;
love laughs
at seventy-two hours
and it's out of your system jazz,
or days
or weeks
or years.
Love clings
to your guts
and wrenches you back
against your will
or better sense.

But you will try:
you'll think you've put it
out to pasture
or on a leash,
letting it graze
or tugging it the fuck back;
you'll try to frighten it
or massage it
sweet talk it
or beg it;
you'll laugh
you'll promise;
you'll lie
to it
and yourself;
you'll say
all that stupid shit:
a day at a time,
an hour at a time,
then a minute,
a second
at a time
and you'll still be
dumbfounded,
grinning like a man punched
in the stomach,
left on a platform
in the rain,
all the trains
full and hopeless.

When it happens
to you
I hope the dope was good,
almost pure, not cut
with shit. If you're gonna kick
you might as well kick over a love
that costs something
that gave as good as it got,
that gave you something to measure
a diminishing world against.
You want to kick over something
that puts your ass in the streets
again.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2011

THE ART OF BEING MISERABLE

A sign
of mental health
they say
is how quickly
you can turn
away
from things
that make
you unhappy.

I've never been
more miserable
in my life.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2011

TIGHT HOT EVERYTHING

It's 80+
in NYC
today.
It was 80+
yesterday
as well.
Winter
has finally given way
to a less worthy opponent: hope.
Each new thaw
is like love
arriving
for the first time
fevered
with expectation.

Young girls
and older women
have bared
themselves
of everything
except mystery;
tits and hips and ass,
arms and shoulders
and backs and legs
are in abundance.
Only the pussy
is hidden,
but men have never been good
at finding it anyway.
Besides, women
will try and save it
for a real illusion.

Old fucks
like me
are eternally young,
but most are thought
to be harmless,
while young hounds
are stiff
with howling. Rarely,
are there a shortage
of suitors.
Soon,
there will be
free fireworks
on boardwalk evenings,
fumbling with a bra strap
and zipper;
the stickiness
of two souls
spinning together,
then break-ups
and make-ups,
and promises
and new starts
and false starts
and restarts;
some making it
for awhile
most bowing out
to look again.
It's the same with short-order cooks
in diners
around the world:
scramble two
and don't
burn
the toast.
You hope
you can last
the shift.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2011