Green Eyes
Golden shimmer
Holding me
Commanding me
Her emerald green eyes feeling
Trying to see through
Examine
Her golden red hair
Flowing down
Back alley High School
Remembrance
Twos by twos
Not the same day blues
She looks out across rivers
A daily job
A friend by day
A memory at night
No drink at all
After daylight
We go to our locations
To sleep and wonder
She sleeps in new bedrooms
As I twist and turn
She knows my thoughts
About loved ones
And hated ones
She sleeps until the sunrise
As I tread the waters to meet her
She comes down fast
Upon my poetry and dollars
She shimmers in lights
And is a delight
A Times Square beauty
On the west most face
Staring out
I wish it was
Sleeping
Sleeping
I thankyou
Wonderful Friend
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.07.20.24:38:31@NJ07430
Guns
Where are the guns!?
They destroy me
They eat at my soul
They make me piss in my pants
Yellow-stained jeans
Where are the guns!?
They make me nervous
They make me cum
They make me hard
Between the thighs
Where are the guns!?
The leftover scent
The touch and glare
The overwhelming blend
If I do so, I dare!
Where are the guns!?
They penetrate my mind
All my senses, all the time
They revolt me
And make my puke
They disgust me and make me fall
Where are my guns!?
They sing to me
In midnight dreams
On wet pillows
And cow cummed disease!
Where are my guns!?
They make me write and paint
And listen and explore
And kiss and kneel
And travel all around
Where are my guns!?
They make my death closer and closer
Near I come
Oh, Where are my guns!?
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.03.11.16:36:27@10036NYC
god
god
you bitch
you demon
you make them believe
you make me a product
you make my mother beg
you are dirt
scum from my cock
you are a bum’s last urine
and you still come back
god
I don’t refer to you
I don’t capitalize you
I visualize you
I imagine you
I can picture you
god
you are evil
you are a baby’s breath
lost from a beaten husband
you are a hanger for pros
and lust from nukees out west
you are a marcher and become a face
of a priest or rabbi
even a CEO
god you are my television
you are a cleaner
you are my servant
because I form you
I mold you
you are only my thoughts
which I do not believe
do not believe
god you are a whisper
you are my love’s gate
and cage
and cook
god you do not exist
I am without a chest
I hear the sounds
the revolutions
and repetitions
but all you can give me
is parting seas
books of words
clothing full of assholes
and emblems representing your existence
I say fuck you
as I eat at your heavenly body
your soul
your belief
your printed matter
your trees and nicely cropped bush
I say fuck you
as your servants beg of you
kneel to you
bow to you
I do NOT capitalize you
or socialize with you
I put my hands out
and milk you of your existence
and nurse you as you die
upon my shoulders
god!
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.01.24.17:51:00@10036
98.01.29.04:26:00@07430
[NOA&S]