BC2

I’m better off with a graphite stick

Behind my closed door

Beneath my wooden plank

Much better than before

Jesus Christ ruled and ruined my life

My gold is gone with spoiled sweat

And spent tears in my struggling strife

Roadside bombs

Light up the avenues at night

I told sister, I’m not going to moms

Holy monks on fire

Shafrazi, Solanas

Everyone I admire

Rachel’s object carefully kept

Burden you with a repeat

Three months in I quietly slept

I’m gay, I’m straight, I’m bi

Does it really matter to you

If I do or die?

Pull up alongside me

September spread in Vogue

Connective ladder is the key

Elevated to the likes of the common few

Hedge funders and President Emerita

Models and curators I can now screw

Lincoln crosses the street

Suicide inevitable

In Wyeth’s field of wheat

Dried without starch

Multiple mediums and now large

Recognition of nothing somethings

Let’s begin the charge!

© 2009 David Greg Harth

09.09.10.19:57:00@CanalStQNYC

09.09.14.21:48:00@130BklynNYC

09.09.17.15:32:41@130BklynNYC