you can never go home again

And all that razzmatazz. Thanks for reading. Here's the final poem in my memory-tastic series of Charleston Times.

Charleston Times 10

music on the pavement and all I ever

had in Charleston was

the ability to hate it.

was it palm trees or beaches?

the College of Charleston, the girls in their

makeup running down

the lane,

the revamp of King Street dying

away from

such humble dirty

tricks and dangers.

I had a crummy apartment with

a good girl in

the heart of a ghetto puking its guts out.

and the city was mud, it was cobblestone,

it was the horses marching around

for tourists and their

wedded happy cousins.

I had nothing, Charleston, and everyone

knew, and I was going to die there,

and school was a fluke,

and I was just a kid, and the street

was brazen, and the only friends I ever

made sat there on the beach lighting

fireworks, and yes

of course I fell in love there

all the time

.

so I left. so I left

and it told me to leave

and it said no southern son and it waved palm fronds

and I left in a beat up truck just in time

before all heaven set with the sun

on the last

day

.

you know we're almost done

but Poppa still gon' make love all night long.

Charleston Times 9

the poetry readings and how I met a girl

were intertwined from

the moment another

girl in pink hair told me that I should

stand on a stage and

read all about

my standard variations.

and when we went we went in force.

and everybody knew us.

and we hated everyone.

and we were better than them.

but, please, as

Harold would say,

much love, much

love from the crowd. clap

clap.

oh what a lovely day

for a neighbor. Won't you be mine?

Charleston Times 8

the hospital was my funeral home.

I worked the third shift and came out

exhausted.

it was escape, of course,

a means, an end,

money and

movement, taking pictures

of so many others, addled

by the lottery

and dreaming of moving to the country.

well who could want such a thing?

Calhoun

was a jerk! Ohh, I said it!

Charleston Times 7

the movie theater downtown serving

beer and beef

was easy and eager,

sat next to the banquet hall,

sat next to the seafood restaurant,

sat on the square, off the street,

large and American,

and I folded under folding that damned flag

when it got too windy out.

and I can recall splicing movies

and finding the time

to lust with my

tongue firmly

in placement and cutting

movies back

to the shreds they came from and finding

the time to stare

down the back alley and imagine

garbage bags bursting in

acclaim of my arrival.

the kitchen was easy;

the fryers were hot;

the food was stiff, oh heat lamp,

I just couldn’t get

a handle of

everything

.

charleston chew

Now, come on, you had to know I was going to use that line as a title to a post at least once during this onslaught of youthful memory poems? Right? Right!

Charleston Times 6

when I went down to Chicago land and

came back

and then decided Austin was

all that could

ever be,

he balked and Josh balked too

and I failed

and flopped around in gym shorts

on my parent’s front lawn.

we said

oh doom and destiny

and couldn’t step over ourselves fast enough to

get back downtown Charleston and

make a life of cheap

apartments and hardwood floors and

late night parties

and girls that were

jealous and poetry readings that

were fast and easy and ridiculed and beloved.

but when I set sail for the new country,

an evening’s party

captured me, and she was there,

and those people were there,

and my brother’s roommate was there

snorting,

and we all fell into the sea and said it is better

to drown than to wade, better

to drench than to soak.

but when I finally woke up in my parent’s house

for the last time, I knew

of only a girl’s legs and how to smash

a beer bottle over my head.

number five alive

Yeah yeah, I know, such a lame post title. But guess what? I eat lame post titles for breakfast.

Charleston Times 5

I met this first girl full of fun on the boardwalk

because of my friend

Jarod and his lingering need

of some other.

and the next girl was a bookstore queen

who couldn’t be

much more than eighteen.

the third girl was wearing a Virginia shirt

and showered easily

in the apartment where we made music.

the next girl, finally, took

off my clothes in her coffee shop and

said that the best part

of poetry is the break.

the girl after that, still that girl, put

my clothes back on

in a different shop and told

me that poetry is

poetry and any other nonsense

is just girls and boys dreaming.

that girl took off her glasses, took off my

hands, said that she

saw the horizon,

took me to the ocean, and made me stand,

facing the wind.

whammie!!

I opted to put two exclamation marks after whammie, not three. I don't know, it just seemed like the moment wanted it, although I know three exclamation points is the traditional way it's done. But don't let it be said that Christopher Savage was ever afraid to defy convention. I bite dogs too, and while I'm wearing a postman's uniform.

Charleston Times 4

Jason said he would never join the armed

forces,

but then he went and did it,

and Kelly,

his lady,

said she was waiting for him.

ocean waves, he played

video games,

he didn’t dance,

he got drunk and smoked cigars

and shaved his head.

he ate chicken as

plain as can

be

and hit the gymnasium.

he said, well you know that the marines are just

easy targets.

we get picked up, we roll out,

we dive in,

and we just hope for the best.

--

I can remember those late nights of pizza and

dvds sitting

lazy on your parent’s

couch counting

hours and slipping down the cords

of endless entertaining

game controllers

Charleston is not so different from Mars

Hey, number three, here it is, wow, cool, go f--- yourself (edit by the blogger team: sorry shitheads, no swearing). Banzai!

Charleston Times 3

oh William, I saw you yesterday

in your

bowtie in the box office

at the theater,

and your mother made you lunch,

and your

sister was away at school,

and the girl of your dreams was hiding behind the concession

counter.

and you said so much would

change.

you said, buy a ticket

now,

it’s going to get much better,

but you might

not have as much fun.

you had that jet black hair made of cutting

knives.

I had a vest on made

of stampeded carpet.

later, you said slurpies are good for you

and downed a whole bag of popcorn for dinner

and disappeared into

the office.

times two

Here is the next poem in the series of Charleston Times. Lovely day, wasn't it?

Charleston Times 2

my friend Jarod picked me

up at three

pm

and we headed away for dinner. downtown.

playing on the streets,

scrambling our

parking,

headed for the pier.

but we stopped at the beach on the way home

and each said what

it was we

desperately wanted.

love

is what he told me.

oh such lovely youth

Yes, I know, I know: the title's a little saccharin, but sue me and shoot me. I wanted to post a poem everyday, and I've decided to put up my cycle on my days in Charleston, SC. The poem cycle is titled Charleston Times. I'll post one a day (maybe two! oh my!) until the series is over (which should last about a week). Also, the "Times" series of poems will show up again when I post Jeff and my new audio poem "Disconnected Times" in the next few days. Wild, man, yeah, dig, and flowers too.

Charleston Times 1

she said that my name was Christopher

and that

she’d love

me

on any stage

in any

town.

we said that we deserve so much better

and dreamed

of leaving.

she said that she didn’t exist

and I woke

up under

my parent’s house

in my parent’s neighborhood.

I was back in Charleston.