Ninety

I’ll catch you

When I can

You and my ninety

Stamped dollars

You & Nina’s Holiness

And the ticket for inspiration!

You should have been honest

But now it’s too late

When I see you on the street

I’ll know who you are

Because you are the man

With no thumbs

Ninety dollars is nothing

And I’ll shove

A cows tongue up your ass

And this ain’t

No Mapplethorpe photograph!

I’ll see you without pity

A man whose meals are free

For just a little longer

You’ll be wishing you were the fly on a bathroom stall door

Instead of the misery and the ass-mark you’ll have

Red and Black, the colors of America

For Twenty Five Dollars

I write a little note to you

Forever carried on me

So, when I meet you

And Mohammed

I’ll smack you in the face

Until your family feels my fists in your soul

And my children can spit on your blood

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.06.26:22:12:00 @ St.Marks&3rdAve

99.06.28.24:12:00 @ 296ES

New York City