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

SHE HAS KEPT HER DISTANCE

w/her body,
but her mind
cannot help her
from knocking
on my door.

Such a waste

of good flesh

& the time
it takes
to devour it.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

I SEE COUPLES KISSING

quietly with
their eyes.
They have to
let each other
go.
I felt that way,
too, with you
saying goodnight
and going
into my bedroom
or my bathroom
in the morning.
Much blood
is spilled
in that
space.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

ARE YOU A WHORE?

I ask a little girl
who passes me
in the hot summer air.
She displays
a peacock's plummage
on top of her head:
streaks of green/blue/magenta/red
hair, black leather studded garb,
black fishnets ripped & torn up
up to her cunt & cheeks of her ass,
nose rings/ear rings/lip rings
snarl from her face.
Her mouth curls
as if I'd said something wrong
or beyond the pale:
Go Fuck Yerself,
she says.
A most reasonable request,
I think,
for a much
younger
man.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017

LESSONS LEARNED

She had the word "Vacancy"
tattooed above her mons Venus
in a motel yellow,
the letters
strangely glowing.
A few of them were dimmed
by the passage of time
while others
were nearly invisible.
How many travelers
have stopped there?
I wondered.
And how many
were still missing?
But I was O so tired,
and needed a bed
for the evening,
maybe longer.
But this time
I'd packed light
and didn't have much
to carry
or unpack.
I gave her
my driver's license
and a credit card...
and waited.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2017