THANKS FOR GIVING

For j.

me
married women
whose husbands
are dead
or might as well be.
Thanks for giving
them
ancient bohemian hearts
and well-springs
of curiosity.
Thanks for giving
us
chemical erections
to boost passion
and education.
Thanks for giving
Chinatown
instead of turkey.
Thanks for giving
trusting Indians.
And thanks for giving
me
a country
that tolerated
me
and made my life
a jumbled mess
of transgressions
and forgiveness.

Tomorrow
is there
to mold
and to
fabricate.
But tonight,
tonight is for
deep reflection
and above all else
laughter.

The wing
is yours.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

THANKS

to my last
girlfriend
I'm able
to explore
a woman's pussy
like
a leisurely
lepidopterist;
studying
the wings
& the colors:
all rectangles,
squares, ovals,
marveling
how they move
& pulsate,
emitting sweetness
& smells
as they groove
to their own
rhythm
& beat;
how they preen
& announce
themselves.
How wonderful
each to each;
how marvelous
to notate
& record
at this age
now.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

THE FLIP-SIDE

of pleasure/pain
is what interests
me. The hum
of the everyday
puts me to sleep.
I've learned
nothing
from peaceful
or good
things. I've enjoyed
them
at times
but shake-off
the common
for the chaotic
and ugly
every time.

Early last week
was a nightmare.
I was brutalized
by merely living
in this world.
Then came friends
from above
the border
& Carmen
at The Met;
Coney Island
& Totonno's;
sales leading
to safety
for another
month.

All through
this Janus faced
life, I've been
cooking
with words...a hundred fucking pages,
and counting.
Enough
to send
out
to Cynthia
which
I did.
Today she called.
A Saturday.
Terrific,
she said,
I'll rep it
when you finish,
so finish.

I thought I'd stop
smoking
but I won't. Why fuck
with the gods
now?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014