The sun sets and rises with you everyday

Your beauty is burnt into my memory bank

The bank that gets robbed but you are in the safe

Locked in forever

 

On 8th avenue way, all the men check me out

Look me up and down

Check out my package and cute face

I can get any one of them

 

Where are the women that ache my heart?

Where do they hide?

When do they want to ‘pick me up?’

Which avenue do they walk on?

 

Washington Square park is filled with participants

Useful ones that could have confronted camera artists

And celebrity stars I find on thirty four television stations

Including my nude self in central park

 

Hey, you, yes you -

Pretty one...

If I tell you to meet me in the park

Where the marble arch is

High noon on my grandmothers sabbath

Would you meet me there?

 

My heart is knotted

Tied and bolted

To platters passed around from blonde to brunette to red to black

From blue eyes to brown eyes to green eyes

   and the grey mystery of my own

 

I’m coming to New York City

I was born here, there

Post office customers

I’m just a believer with bad credit

 

Certainty is now still in the concept of a book

That I will never read

So, I guess I don’t know the rules

Maybe you’ll teach, maybe you wont

Maybe I’ll just die in a rocking chair

 

It’s time to go

Thirst to produce has engulfed my mind

I’ll be inspired by you

Because until I meet you

I won’t be disappointed

Or shot down

Or in an orgasm of truth of my own disbelief

 

 

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.05.22:34:00 @ 296 NYC

99.05.06.03:04:23 @ 296 NYC