Bitch
She’s my bitch
my honor
my mother fucker
why am I forced to lover her
i don’t even know her
Who she is or where she came from
i don’t know her true history
As I become the alcoholic I’ve always dreamed of becoming
Get me my scotch glass
That bitch
That fucker
Why do you need it
You’ll just be in pain anyway
And you’ll just eat the sand from which she grows
No please or sorry or children’s disease
No ammunition of romantic love for me
No words of wisdom
Or thank you for my art
Fuck you
go to Hell
see you on the other side of God
Like me now?
She didn’t whisper in my ear
didn’t even hold my hand at the shot-put zoo
didn’t even envelope a thought
I love you – the same.
She followed me up to the sky
Slowly I dripped a delivery
One time quicker than last
Nothing left, Nothing to do
She’s my bitch
a conquer
an underdeveloped nightmare
A picture perfect nothingness
A beauty for results
A bad ass
A smooth-over turn table
A crybaby
A silent asshole
She was my dick
My hole
My other
A dust
A tear
A bitten lip
A rose
Now
I can die
In peace
Leave me alone.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.26.13:23:18 @ PH17OBNC
Not Your Fuckin
Not your fuckin world record
Or turn at a hand job
Not your elbow at the table
Or icing on the cake
Not your fuckin hunger
Or food chain blues
Not your half-moon scent
Or Harley-Davidson lover’s good-bye
Not your fuckin problem
Or glass smashing dozen
Not your bed room outfit
Or wax melting smells
Not your fuckin gorgeous wetness
Or summertime romance
Not your babies I’m worried about
Or sucking back jolt
Not your fuckin gender bend
Or daisy duke flower dropper
Not your Hollywood star
Or mothers lost hope
Not your fuckin lover’s completion
Or ballad love harmony
Not your dreaming sensation
Or connected counterfeit
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.24.18:26:00@PH17OBNC
Ladies and Gentleman
Ladies and Gentleman
Tell me your disease
Share your pain with me
Let me comfort your horrors
Feel the hearts ache
And our veins boil
Hear the echoes of lost children
And the silence of the dead
See the dark Styx
And insides of my honor
Smell the stench of burning flesh
And used gun powder
Touch the rotten tiny bodies
And use them as old-age diapers
Spit on the graves
Of disgusted
Wasted
And
Bitched
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.21.17:49:40 @ PH17 Outer Banks NC
Red
I can’t stop now
Ocean waves are breaking
Wild horses are breathtaking
I can only follow you
Into the sky of heaven
I can make a giant leap
But nothing without a holding hand
Inside and out
Today I think about you
And your red hue
Footsteps left in the sand
Someday a return passage
A thought in the salt wind
And a shared glance from yesterday
The sound of the ocean
Calms my heart
Puts me in that place
Deep down inside
In the deepness
Where blue becomes white
And red becomes autumn peach
And pink or blue can be all and warm
I can’t stop now
Someone told me
You were beautiful
But it wasn’t me
I live for today
And don’t want to hurt you tomorrow.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.21.15:26:09 @ PH17 Outer Banks NC
ART is for BLACK PEOPLE
Art is for Black People
Because they don’t have to change
They don’t have to put on colored clothing
To fit in
Be hip
And go
Art is for Black People
Because they can be themselves
And still be real
And still be at the place to be
Art is for Black People
Because
All artists commit suicide daily
And
All artists are forced
To have openings that reveal chaotic hypnotism
Art is for Black People
In memory of Bob Thompson
And the hand modeler
© 2000 David Greg Harth
99.05.14.18:00:00@O’Hare, Chicago
00.05.11.17:42:33@296 New York City
Opa
David,
Its Three-Thirty in the morning
And I have to talk to Marshall
They’re killing me here
I’m losing the use of my hands
I have to get out of here
You have to get me out of here
Please
Tell Marshall to get me out of here
Please
Thursday Three-Twenty-Five AM
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.11.03:25:00@296NYC
00.05.11.09:01:25@296NYC
Love (Version #07)
What was I supposed to do?
Deny him the only right and last wish he had?
And on that 4th day of May
My grandfather asked me to deliver him a gun
And in that brown paper bag
I delivered
First I had to discharge him from the Hospital
Take his belongings and pack them up, folded
We both outreached for each other, almost constantly
And took a car service for a few blocks north
His questions ran through my head
His eyes poetic and his smile warm
His leg numb and thumbs caressing my own
His fungus-finger nails hovering and blessing my own
His tears breaking the cracks in his old skin
His white hair trimmed by his own sword
His tea-stained manufactured teeth in place
His light-blue cotton shirt fully buttoned
He did not want to suffer
He did not want her to be alone
He did not want me to give
He did not want to be bought
He only wanted us to do the “right thing”
He only wanted us to do from the heart
He never understood the depth of the knowledge which resides in our hearts
He never knew the person who made me happy
All he wanted was to die in her arms
For he and the love of his life, to die together
And that is what he achieved
But now what do I do
Alone, in a silent, aged,
moth-ball smelling apartment
on 218th St?
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.04.15:42:56@1515NYC
00.05.05.03:33:40@296NYC
Dream Disease
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.27.03:11:09 @ 296 NYC
Found Incest
I was 16 and Fred was 14. We lived on my grandparent’s farm in
California. We had skinny dipped for about a week when one afternoon
we started fooling around in the water. I grabbed his dick and it
got hard.
Good for you, Betty! Did you make love in the water? Other experiences
during that special summer? It took my cousin and I awhile to get
to that point-kissing, exploring, mutual masturbation, etc.-until
we finally made love one afternoon in my bedroom. After that, we
tried to get together as often as possible.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.23.22:39:10@296NYC
Oma and Opa (Version #5)
My grandparents are dying.
The Informative Rundown:
Opa (Grandfather):
88
Immigrant from Germany
Escaped the Holocaust
Retired Expert Tailor, WWII Veteran
Pace Maker
Triple By-Pass
Prostate
Cataract x 2
Lymph in Tongue Surgery
Stroke x 2 + others
Did not go to the Hospital immediately after the last stroke because he never wants to leave the side of the love of his life
Still, in the midst of it all, he posed in the hospital for his grandson to take a photograph, for art
Oma (Grandmother):
85
Immigrant from Lithuania
Mother and Sisters shot in the Holocaust
Retired EKG Technician
Cancer in the leg x 2
Bulging bad eye
Shingles
Can no longer walk, locate the kitchen or remember if I gave her a pill 10
minutes ago
Still, in the midst of it all, makes sure I eat, talks about her grandson
being an artist, and shares my blue eyes
Home:
Opera singer floors above can be heard
Awards and certificates hang on the walls
My childhood art hangs on the walls
Dead flowers from the 60th anniversary just one week ago still on the table
The Coo-Coo clock has to be wound up
Medications unorganized and in wrong bottles
Can no longer sign checks or go to the bank or doctor or grocery
Refrigerator filled with delivered meals, bad food, expired milk, bread,
cheese, matzoh and prunes
Summary:
He’ll make 90
She’ll make matzoh ball soup and cookies again
Or
I’ll have to write pages and speak.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.18.00:00:00@ New York City 83PTW/296E
00.04.19.00:00:00@ New York City 83PTW/296E
00.04.20.00:00:00@ New York City 83PTW/296E
00.04.21.00:00:00@ New York City 83PTW/296E
00.04.21.03:31:31 @ New York City 296E
Satan’s Pride
I walked in
Brain went warm and swelled
I was wet in my mouth and dry in the eyes
The stained glass colors made the thick columns gay
Palms were in my palms
I held them, felt them, but could not sculpt them
A crowd gathered
No famous person here
No Hollywood make-believe
No rock-star
Calm
Sitting still
Listening
Learning
And feeding on the truth of those before me,
Infront of me, behind me and all around me
This is the hour when he triumphed over Satan’s pride
The hour when he can deliver and show me the reason for arches
The hour when my eyes stop twitching
This is the hour when he triumphed over Harth’s pride
The hour when art became true reality
The hour when my palms dropped to the hard wood
Organ sound systems
Tight
The scent surrounding
Deep swallowing I roll back
I wish I could turn around and see who is standing at the door
I drank a cup of wine
And the invisible man did not show
I drank a cup of wine
And plagued my bread and butter
I could not dip
For I might burn
I could not walk
For I might burn
But the suicides tell me Ill burn in hell
And the snowfall lit her night and broke glass on the steps
But the beauties tell me to obey
And the men bring the cure
This is the hour when he triumphed over Satan’s pride
This is the hour when he triumphed over Harth’s pride
This is the hour
And the hour lasts
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.21.03:23:56@296NYC
Oma and Opa (Version #4)
My grandfather had a stroke.
My grandmother doesn’t know where the kitchen is.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.18.00:00:00@ New York City 83PTW/296E
00.04.19.00:00:00@ New York City 83PTW/296E
00.04.20.00:00:00@ New York City 83PTW/296E
Making Love (Version #2)
It was perfect
Just after our wine
From the wicker picnic basket
On our fresh down blanket
Upon the grass
Under a great huge oak tree
Lying under the stars
In the warm summer night
A slight summer breeze blowing
My fingers running through your hair
I was penetrating you with passion
In a steady rhythm over and over
Kissing your lips with desire
And staring into your sparkling eyes
The night sky was overhead
Filled with bright stars and constellations
The rustle of the oak leaves could be heard
As we clenched each other’s hands
Still, I would grind away
Rub our hips together
As I nibble on your stiff nipples
And trace the contour of your beauty with my tongue
Under that lasting nighttime sky
We celebrate together
Our unity and share our affection
Caressing your soft skin and kissing your ears
Over and over again
I push inwards and thrust
Bare in the warm summer air
Your breasts pressed firmly against my chest
It was just perfect
But you were not there
Not your mind nor your body
Not even a trace of your scent
And I cried alone
Under the nighttime sky
Under the great oak tree
Wishing you were there
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.14.06:58:02 @ 296 NYC
00.04.14.12:08:56 @ 1515 NYC
Making Love
It was perfect
Just after our wine
From the wicker picnic basket
On our fresh down blanket
Upon the grass
Under a great huge oak tree
Lying under the stars
In the warm summer night
A slight summer breeze blowing
My fingers running through your hair
I was penetrating you with passion
In a steady rhythm over and over
Kissing your lips with desire
And staring into your sparkling eyes
The night sky was overhead
Filled with bright stars and constellations
The rustle of the oak leaves could be heard
As we clenched each other’s hands
Still, I would grind away
Rub our hips together
As I nibble on your stiff nipples
And trace the contour of your beauty with my tongue
Under that lasting nighttime sky
We celebrate together
Our unity and share our affection
Caressing your soft skin and kissing your ears
Over and over again
I push inwards and thrust
Bare in the warm summer air
Your breasts pressed firmly against my chest
It was just perfect
But you were not there
Not your mind nor your body
Not even a trace of your scent
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.14.06:58:02 @ 296 NYC
00.04.14.12:08:56 @ 1515 NYC
American Ding Dong in a Cum Bush
I’ve got an American Ding Dong
Circumcised
Size up
Felt up
Felt Velvet
Heat up
Shut up
I’ve got a big long Ding Dong
American
Ancient
Roman
Ding-A-Ling
It’s been going in and out
These days
Of those summer bushes
Smelly corners
Around the turns
Drive bys
Inner thighs
Summer nights
Cum bushes
Sister Remembers
May Remembers
Cemetery Bends
School Days
Outside
Nest Inside
Snuzzle up
Down under
Muffled
American
My lips are behind
In the hiding
Round here
Sugar bee
Wrapped over my knee
Spank! Spank!
I owe you
One-Two-Three!!
American Ding Dong
In a Cum Bush
Cum here
Come here
Silly goose!
Coop Shoop Doop
Leap of faith
Doop Deep Dop
Crop Shop Mop
I’ve got an American Ding Dong
Standing tall like a flag pole
Just outside
The Cum Bush
On a summer night
Birdies chirping
No-Radio
Breeze blowing
Down the Noun
Down the Neck
American Ding Dong
In a Cum Bush
Bent over
Bee hive
Living to thrive
Jive to live
Burn
And squeeze
The juice
American Ding Dong
In a Cum Bush
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.09.16:00:00@P.CollectionW.D.C.
00.04.10.14:51:11@1515NYC
00.04.11.01:22:23@296NYC
when the train goes by
and when the train goes by
it’s such a sad sound
(it’s such a sad thing)
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.10.22:20:12@6TrainBleeckerStNYC
Brown Paper Bag
I’ve always known
What it was like
To be alone
In the cave of shadows
Being the person whom you only see in a mirror
And wanting
And craving to peel back your skin
And reveal your inner self and inner truth
I’ve been in that state
Standing still
For so long
But now with the current warmth
I can no longer hide
I can no longer let my eyes roll back
Because now I’ll let someone else
Inside
And lay my trench coat on the puddle before you
Now I can stand in motion
No longer still
But traveling
With a possible
Great big
Brown Paper Bag...
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.03.30.17:14:44 @ 1515 NYC
00.04.07.03:07:13 @ 296 NYC
Whispers
How To Touch A Naked Man
Remember that there is more to me
Beyond my eyes and lips
Touch my navel and the side of my chest
Travel around with
Your tongue
And warm hand
Remember my ear
The delicate and intricate curves
Remember my neck
The slender curve and pulse
Remember that there is more to me
Beyond just what lies next to you
Run your fingers through my hair
Squeeze and stroke
Push and pull
Whisper and hug
Never be afraid
Remember my hands
Grip them and hold them
Remember my lips
Kiss them and taste them
Remember that there is more to me
Beyond just an erection
Embrace my warmth next to you
Feel my arms and legs wrap around you
Try the new
And I’ll let you know what feels good
With my shivers
My tongue
My voice
My whispers
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.07.02:48:41 @ 296 NYC
Romance (Version #2)
When I smell Romance
I think of you
When I hear music from Angels
I think of you
When I see the moon
I think of you
When I hear Christmas Carols
I think of you
When I feel the warmth of the sun
I think of you
When I see the sunrise and sunset
I think of you
When the tick-tock-clock strikes Eleven O’clock
I think of you
When I’m in the month of April
I think of you
When I visit God
I think of you
When I look into the blue sky
I think of you
When I sleep at night
I think of you
Tightly wrapped up
In your blanket and white sheets
Soft
With baby brown eyes
And I wish
That I was next to you...
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.03.21.17:20:00 @ Miami,USA FLT#640
00.03.24.01:56:00 @ 296 NYC
00.03.29.01:59:00 @ 296 NYC
Whispers