MAY DAY, MAY DAY

I'm going down
with the ship--
I ain't got no choice.
It's the only ship
I got, and the fuckin Captain
is a fuckin moron
& the fucking crew
is just as fucking nuts
as he is or
is as fucked as I am.

Please, for the love of fucking God,
tell whoever the fuck loves me
I fuckin love them back
and I haven't fuckin forgotten
about the love,
not to mention the fuckin money,
I still owe them.
But whatareyagonnado--
I'm going up
or down
in fucking flames

& I ain't got a lot of fucking time
to write
no fucking love letter.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

CALLING DR. FREUD

Vell, it's obvious, no?
He is trying to replicate
his greatest success,
his only success:
The Apprentice.
All his other business'
went into the shithole, no?:
Airline, Steaks, Water,
A Charity, A University,
A Football Team, Buildings, even Casinos (where
only the most incompetent
can't make a dollar)--Poof! Gone!
Only his Daddy's money
(and that was very stinky money, too),
bailed him out until other Daddys
allowed him only to keep his name
while they made the shit.

But The Apprentice, ah, The Apprentice,
that was his. He could be his boorish,
stupid stumbling self & still rule
the little office where syncophants went
to grovel to the mushroom capped cock
underneath a desk of make believe.
It is there, in the safey
of his home, he wants people--
and now cities & states--
to slug it out.
He wants people
to beg
before he hires.
He wants bodies
to contort,
to agonize.
He wants to see
all the states
all the cities
who betrayed him
turn on each other
in a feeding frenzy
for money, for equipment,
for a breath;
he wants those cities & states
to bring those trucks,
those iceboxes,
so he can see
in real time
with his racoon eyes
the dead carted out
to wait to be planted.
He loves this;
it's what he lives for.

Today, on this Friday, March 27th, afternoon,
he's already started to primp himself--
plastic hair, orange flesh--
for his daily fix:
a "news" conference
where his mouth--
looking more like a turkey's asshole--
will emit today's droppings:
small hard pellets of shit.
He will stand above the fray
& select the reporters he deigns to favor
with more lies
knowing full well
the havoc
& death
he stokes.

All this talk,
all this handwringing,
& all this breastbeating &
all these acts of courage,
is for naught.
He is
his one & only firament light
that he navigates by;
he is the only star
in this show.
He cannot
& will not
give that up.

There is only one word
for this disease, my friends;
one word that captures
a pathology for which
there is no escape--
that word
must be
love.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2020

DONALD TRUMP

is trying to get
a hardon
for new years.
He said
he will get
the biggest & strongest & best hardon
ever.
In fact,
he's going to Times Square tonight
to prove it.
He's going
to lie
down underneath
the ball
as it drops
while we,
the millions there
& the tens of millions
everywhere else
counts off
the seconds.

You'll never get
below seven
he bellowed.
Never never never ever never.
He's never been one
to mince words.
We'll see.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018

WHAT A CONUNDRUM!

The Pope
invited me to Rome.
Donny
begged me to come to Mar-a-Lago.
Who,
I asked myself,
should I dis--
The child of God, or
the father of God?
Instead,
I babysat
Jay Z's kids
figuring:
hip hop artists
need a break, too.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

PACK YOUR SHIT

Mr. President.
It's only been a month tomorrow
so you can't have much to take:
a bathrobe (maybe two);
a toothbrush (maybe two);
perhaps a thong.
You've already fucked-up
more shit than everyone
who came before you; you'll only
fuck-up more if you stay.
But take heart:
you've made the history books:
most fucked-up president ever.
That's what they'll say.
You'll be the one
they make comparisons to:
You think he's fucked-up? That ain't nothin. I was around when...
And you'll have your portrait; your windswept "do"
will be next to Lincoln Kennedy Washington Roosevelt
and your skinny scrunchy lips and beaver mean eyes
will frighten the shit out of school children
taking a tour with Melania who never noticed
you were even gone.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

SHOUT-OUT TO THE PREZ:

Hey, Barack--
ya wanna do something?
I mean DO Something?
OK...
Let Ali rest inside
our Capitol's Rotunda
and let those
who want to,
or need to,
or have to,
pay their respects.

If not--please
shut the fuck up.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016