Golden Years

Golden Years

Tempted cherry pops

Freezing Cold Rain

Just inside from the federal trip

Drug dealing happiness

Favors returned

Listening to her complain

Bitch

Her/ass the leftover

Clap! Clap!

Your hands together

Bounce around

From California

I’ll remember your ass.

Ha! You make me laugh

Golden Years

Let’s make a fabrication

Let’s make a baby

Darlin’

Come celebrate

With art and poetry

We’ll go down in history

To the fan’s syndrome

You dirty giant

You mixed media event

Feeling groovy

Like Mrs. Robinson

Keep the faith

Mr. Goldberg

I hardly know you

Take

Straddle

1, 2, 3 -- I fall asleep

McDonald’s

I’m your brain

Confuse my confusion

And I’ll be your left foot

For your Star Wars money

and 25¢

Dinkel Berry Trabant Man’s disease

Please play music

at my dear

Very own knees

Itis.

Itis.

Itis.

Months

With no mainstream

Those other boroughs

They burn like mosquitos in the sky

Rat-Tat-Tat! Rat-Tat-Tat!

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.01.14.04:05:43 @ 296NYC