You, The Bank, The Knives
I went to the bank,
you were there.
When I got home,
you were there.
I leaned over for a kiss
You took two knives to my legs
Stabbed my upper thighs
And you ran out of the house
I went to the bank,
you were there.
When I got home,
you weren’t there.
I’m bleeding still
I’ve removed the knives
I’m recovering well,
Thanks for asking.
I went to the bank
I robbed it
And now I’m serving years
I committed this felony
Because I had a gun
Shot nobody
I’m still bleeding
I went home
You weren’t there
You don’t visit me
You are home without me
If it’s money you wanted
Why didn’t you just ask?
Why didn’t you just ask?
I would have given you my greatest jewels
© 2011 David Greg Harth
11.06.30.24:26:39@130BklynNYC
Your Ass Is Like Moonlight
The last time
I was penetrating you
You were bent over
And I was sliding inside you
From behind.
My view was divine
The last time
Oh! Oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh
Moonlight
The last time
I robbed your heart
You were wrapped in my sheets
And I embraced you
From behind.
My view was divine
The last time
Oh! Oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh
Moonlight
The last time
I photographed you
You lowered your clothes
And I witnessed your porcelain ass
From behind.
My view was divine
The last time
Oh! Oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh
Moonlight
The last time
I went down on you
Your soft lips tasted so sweet
And I lifted you upwards
From behind.
My view was divine
The last time
Oh! Oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh
Moonlight
The last time
I was in love
You ran away from me
I said farewell
From behind.
My view was divine!
The last time
Oh! Oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh
Moonlight
Moonlight
© 2011 David Greg Harth
11.05.16.22:02:00@FLT1124
Your Garden
In heaven’s court
I am judged
Beneath Washington’s bridge
I am paralyzed
Behind institution’s doors
I am raped
Before my friends
I am defamed
In the wooden casket
I am burned
Silenced at Museum’s end
I am spoken
Lynched over Wyeth’s oak
I am memory
Clean by father
I am repaired
Picked for Middle East
I am fearless
Closing on Love
I am a garden
– I have no light – I have no water
© 2008 David Greg Harth
08.06.17.14:06:00@10005thNYC
Yesterday’s Road Is Today’s Tuna Fish Sandwich
Milton took the left road when he came to the fork in the middle of the road.
He climbed the stairs, he’s fallen down.
No more friends and no more dinner requests.
It’s the meaning we all follow.
Paint the pictures, seal them up, heaven awaits packaged goods.
A story untold, it has begun to unfold.
Ring the bell, place your finger on the button, depress.
My grandfather was always impressed.
Margie, don’t worry, you won’t get this one either.
Forget it.
She’s skinny. She’s fat. I had a pint. I gave a pint. I ate a pint. I drank a pint.
It’s not that mint that alarms you.
She called me up after three more years.
Philadelphia.
You are right, I would like some cheese on that sandwich.
Only if the chemicals are right.
Don’t dispose of that on your face.
You know, your eyes will get stuck like that if you keep doing that.
I have hair on my hands.
I stopped getting groomed.
I’m not worried, are you?
Yes, check in time is Three O’clock in the afternoon.
It would be a lie if I told you I did not want to make love.
To you or two of you?
I started the engine.
The elderly stopped making demands in the twentieth century.
I’m not too proud of the instances.
This is the point in the poem when I tell my reader that I cannot reproduce.
Apart, I’m torn.
I tear one more drop, I move one more type, I turn one more curve.
My conversation has gone.
And I’m back in Boston, where I never did get laid.
Put me to rest, haven’t phoned him back up.
He is restricted and Miami is kissed.
She put on her bear ears, she opened her legs, she called her husband.
I forgot, what was that number again?
Margie, may I remind you, you’ll never make sense of this?
Yes, only for a little while. Cervelat. With eggs or on white bread?
Both.
It’s time to go, its five after five.
© 2007 David Greg Harth
07.09.19.17:05:57@599BwayNYC
You Are Dying
Before my eyes you fade
Your bathroom floor,
sticky from past urine
a stench
Shit
stains your sheets
and underpants
Diaper worn
You forget
(as do I)
How could someone
So giving
So loving
So marvelous
End in such sorrow and waste?
Would it be wrong
to assist a man
who wishes to die?
Would it be wrong
to hand you a revolver—
your lasting wish?
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.05.07.16:35:00@2550WebbBronx
You Loved Me Too Much
After we spoke, I took the long walk west.
I jumped into the Hudson.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.31.04:00:00@296NYC
You Keep Me
Whether it be the Brooklyn bound F train
Or the Bronx bound A Train
I cannot tell you how many times
I often think of bending my head
Over the platform edge
Hover it over the tracks
As the oncoming train comes
So, it hits my head
My death comes immediately
But its only you
Thoughts of you
That keeps me alive
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.02.19.19:53:40@296NYC
You Left
you came with the flutes
you came with the cello
you came with your symphony
you came with your smile
you left me with a gaze
you left me with a tear
you left me with a twirling maze
you left me with no fear
you came with wings from heaven
you came with surrounding beauty
you came with deepening wonders
you came with heartache
you left me standing
you left me wanting
you left me hoping
you left me listening
you left me a piece
of your heart in mine
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.09.02.16:14:00@NYC
Your Voice
Your voice is near,
so far away.
At the other end,
just saying “hey.”
A message heard,
a message left.
A heart is here,
without a theft.
A soothing tone,
beautiful reminder.
Silent keeper,
I think I won’t forget her.
That’s my tale
of your whisper.
Hear it again,
Come in closer.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.07.15.14:09:56@296NYC
You Went
You had to go
You told me your decision
You have left me for good,
no longer here, my bed is empty
You just got up and went
and left my heart to ache
and now I am all alone
But I never got to tell you
Those very words you had wished to here,
I love you.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.02.27.18:56:38@296NYC
You Just Know Love
You just know when you are in love
When she smothers you with everything she’s got
And you feel grand every morning...
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.01.03.21:11:46@296NYC
Your Scent
You walk by,
I sniff you
I pick up on your scent
And from that very same scent that you distribute
to your co-workers and lovers and friends and family alike
I can tell
what you had for breakfast
if you like it up the ass
and if you own a dog or a pussy
I can tell
the last time you visited the doctor
and the last time you had sex
I can tell
if you like peppermint or sushi
if you like strawberries or blueberries
if you prefer preserves or jam
I can tell this all
just by passing through your scent
your smell
the scents you carry with you
in passages you take,
crossing my own
I can smell you
and with those smells
I can tell
the last time you bathed
the last time you went to the sea
the last time you slept
the last corner you turned
the last beverage you drank
I can tell this all
just by smelling you
your scent
I can tell if you are clean
or dirty
I can tell if you use generic or name-brand products
on your hair
or on your teeth
I can tell
what detergent you use on your pillow cases
or the thread count of your bed sheets
I can tell if
you day dream or if you remember your nightmares
I can tell if
you looked at yourself in the mirror that same morning,
critiquing your image
I can tell
if you planted flowers recently
and what your favorite bloom is
I can tell
if you lied to your previous lover
Just by smelling
I know this all
I know where you live, where you work, where you sleep and eat
I know where you were born where you are going to and where you bought your shoes
I know everything about you
Just by following your scent
The smell emerging from your armpit and your mouth
The smell emerging from your vulva and ass
The smell from your hair and feet
The smell that you deliver and manufacture
I can tell all
Just by your scent
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.07.23.16:18:32@1515NYC
You’re old trash now.
You’re trash.
You’re junk.
You’re trash of the sea.
You’re an animal carcass.
You’re a car crash.
You’re space spunk.
You’re shaven facial hair.
You’re a cracked mirror.
You’re zero in a bag.
You’re disposed of.
You’re leftover goods.
You’re last night’s one night stand.
You’re a lie.
You’re rusty nails on a children’s swing set.
You’re not defined.
You’re an expired carton of milk.
You’re dead beat.
You’re boiled water.
You’re unsexual.
You’re not really here.
You’re spit from a retired judge.
You’re junky.
You’re used bacteria.
You’re a monkey.
You’re crumbly eyeballs.
You’re shit blood.
You’re stinky girl’s panties.
You’re a dog’s wet balls.
You’re sweat between toes.
You’re nothing I ever wanted to know.
You’re garbage in the backyard.
You’re old trash now.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.03.28.02:56:26 @ 296 NYC
You Are Not Here
I look to my left, and I see you
I look to my right, and I see you
But when I look above me
or below me,
I don’t see you.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.01.31.14:02:00 @ Bway & Grand NYC
Yours
I can’t give it to you forever
Stand by your side
Give you the love you deserve
Give you the love you display
I can’t give you away
I can only dance with you until sunrise
I can only make love to you until sunrise
I can only share my dreams with you, a little longer
My fingers tremble
My stomach aches
My eyes close
Know that I would die for you
Die daily for you
Every day I would die for you
Please don’t lose your breath
Please don’t lose your soul
Please remember me forever
I can only cry so much longer
I can only destroy my insides for a little while longer
I can only quench the pain for some time
I can only listen to your heart today
I can only listen to my mind forever
I’m alone today
I have to be alone
In this city world
This new world
I have to be alone
No grains of sugar at my bed
No shared kisses
No shared holding
No shared hugs
No shared laughter
Only my tears
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.10.30.16:24:26 @ 1515 NYC
You Mother Fucker
You mother fucker
Bomb the Embassy
Bomb another Embassy
Bomb the USS Cole
Bomb the Pentagon
But don’t ever
Ever step into my fuckin back yard
My fuckin New York City
My fuckin America
And Kill my friends, my family, and my neighbors
Now you’ve really fuckin pissed me off!
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.11.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.12.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.13.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.14.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.15.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.16.07:00:00@296NYC
You Know You Are An Elephant
You know you are an elephant
But what am I?
But what am I?
Just a fan?
Of your marriage?
Your song?
The kitchen chair you sit upon?
You know you are an elephant
Big and grey
Wise
Scared of the little mouse
Sit on my lap,
I’ll tell you a goodnight story
You know you are an elephant
Big ears
Hearing round and round
From California bay side
To the New York harbor
To the early night in Cork
To the last night in Europe
You know you are an elephant
Listening to the closed door
Hearing those two on the other side
Listening for hints, sounds
Making mental notes
Spreading the news
You know you are an elephant
Sleeping around
An animal of sorts
A dead vegetable
Going to Yorkshire
From SOHO
Going to the art fair
From machine gun alley
You know you are an elephant
But what am I?
But what am I?
I’m a lonely clover
Sitting upon your shoulder
Looking and reading into your thoughts
Sniffing at your hair
I’ll leave you alone
If you scratch my back
Scratch my back
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.07.21.04:42:03@296NYC
Yellow & Red
An angular turn toward the sky,
A screeching yell
He opens wide,
Yells to the heavens...
Maybe asking, a Why?
He turns, twists,
As the thunder holds him,
Tightly grasps him, squeezes,
He yells, screeches,
His pain, in red and yellow,
furious anger,
it rages above the land,
above the white cotton fields,
above the singular eggs,
above the smell of death,
His pain, he yells,
Maybe asking, a Why?
The reds, oranges, and yellows,
The anger, the pain,
Always alone, never lonely.
His teeth, sharp
His tongue, drips of blood,
bitten too hard,
after a midnight puncture
A morning call
A nighttime fall
After hours,
No more
Liquid down, time to feed,
the wind breaks the silence
the passengers cross the river
the obesity, the unshaven, that voice above,
and maybe later,
A higher one.
His pain, he yells,
In yellow and red,
for no love can rescue
for no love can predict
He thinks they are fake, they are real
He notices one by one,
and takes a poll
He comes down
for a while
Watches the shadow
from a 12th floor window
Watches the rain,
the beasts,
the rich men too.
The arrested man,
convicted from his mother,
from gold to poor,
from a voice of no more.
His pain reaches out,
for a higher reason,
a wonderful dream,
no.
not this time.
Yellow and red, slash them tonight.
Yellow and red, may I be yours tonight?
Yellow and red, he fuck her, she fuck him.
Yellow and red, my father
Yellow and red, a lover in bed
Yellow and red, he wants suicide
Yellow and red, one is good
Yellow and red, anger is food
His pain, it comes deep within
But surely you know,
It isn’t a jX or a hooker
It isn’t a nX or a chic
It isn’t a gX or a cheese
It isn’t a pig or a fowl
It’s that Yellow and Red.
The blood of anger.
You know what it is
What it is caused by.
Maybe you are part of it.
Maybe you are not.
Yellow and Red.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.05.05.01:34:00@31USQWNYC