Double You
On the 6th day of June
In the year of 2006,
I shall find you six minutes
Into the sixth hour past midnight
Wherever you may be,
And take you out,
Take you down.
Until you are ended,
And true freedom
Shall prevail.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.06.01:32:13@296NYC
Miles To Dawn
It’s a long road,
but at the end,
he’ll be waiting,
waiting for you.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.03.14:07:49@205HudsonNYC
Unlock Me
Knowing how the heart catapults into love,
I am uncertain if it’s you
If it’s you I could love.
I should until the end of time
Until death parts us
But I’ve only just found the key.
Find the looking glass, told.
I’ve climbed the mountain,
I shiver in thought.
He left the door ajar
Soundless she lies on the bed
Bare and innocent, calling.
The crow sits on the sill
As my love is wasted away
In you.
Pick up your belongings
Arise from your still
It is I who is now your shadow.
End your quest
Become the woman you are
For I too, am she.
Drink the blood
Your monthly
Let me suckle down yours.
Know that I love thee.
And it is you
That is my key.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.02.11:33:44@205HudsonNYC
Stand
It’s hard to stand up,
I cannot stand up.
I’m down.
This weight is on top of me.
It blankets me.
Keeps me down.
I cannot stand up.
I’m trying to sand up.
But I am down.
And down I am.
With my might I try.
To stand tall and strong.
But I am down.
And down I am.
Stand I cannot.
No longer I stand.
I sink.
Sinking deeper.
In the depths of despair.
I’m down.
Can’t stand.
Stand I try.
But I am down.
Down in the earth.
A sunken rock.
Lost ship at sea.
Rotted down.
Succumbed to my infection.
No longer here.
No longer standing.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.01.24:38:08@296NYC
Suffering
All around you is suffering.
People in Africa are dying of AIDS
They are dying of starvation.
Of simple procedures. Simple medications. Simply water.
They are suffering. They are dying in the streets.
And I ask,
I ask you,
What have you done?
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.02.21.24:49:31@296NYC
You Keep Me
Whether it be the Brooklyn bound F train
Or the Bronx bound A Train
I cannot tell you how many times
I often think of bending my head
Over the platform edge
Hover it over the tracks
As the oncoming train comes
So, it hits my head
My death comes immediately
But its only you
Thoughts of you
That keeps me alive
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.02.19.19:53:40@296NYC
Elevator
Move it
Rub your lips
Like the way you do
On the upward elevator
Dance
Gyrate
Wish you were my Valentine
Viewing your gallery
Obsession in my elevator
Rub your lips
With your treat
My treat
Wish it was
Elevator Up?
Going up
I am up
Erect in this building
Going far
Until I open up
Fifth floor
Walk-Up
Get Out
She’s wet
Rub your lips
Dance
Hear my compact
Just reach out
Touch me
You know that
1970’s
Rub your lips
Just once more
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.02.07.11:42:33@205HudsonNYC
Good Morning, Blue
Time to rise
Time to wake
Fall out of your sheets
Eat some jelly and toast
Start thinking of your morning excuse
Plan on the time you’ll call me
Your day after call on the phone
Time to rinse
Time to make
Crawl out from under the truth
Let it be slippery – slide through your fingers
Mud wet wed
Turn the dim lights on
And I wonder these days,
Why don’t you recognize me anymore?
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.01.27.15:24:00@205HudsonNYC
The Last Glass of Chocolate Milk (Version #2)
Stadium lights infiltrate my eyes from your tenth floor home
The heat raises my body temperature, I want to take off my clothing.
Plastic flowers line the tables and window sills.
Live plants hang from hooks in the ceiling.
I remember the curved green couch on the Park Terrace.
Black squirrels eating peanuts from my palm, and that of your husband.
Chocolate candy coated, tuna fish and the unforgettable scent;
Of which I cannot explain to you now.
Your bad breath, a slight whisker from your cheek.
The bluest eyes, like mine; that speak love.
And I still try to find ‘a nice girl.’
I’ll let you know when I have, or when I did.
Your sagging breasts and bulging blind eye.
The sweetest woman who knew my brain waves.
A smile I’ll never forget when you counted,
One Dollar, Two Dollars.
The red knitted ribbon that hangs on my entrance.
Your senior MTA card sits in a drawer.
You lie in rest in peace beneath my earth.
In a pine wood box you dissolve.
But I must be honest,
I don’t think it was in 10S.
But only on the Terrace,
When I got my last glass
of chocolate milk.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.01.25.01:09:11@205HudsonNYC
Head First
I knew nothing then of what I knew today
She had bright red hair
Above her head and below.
Freckles covered her body
In between her pasty white skin poked out,
Said hello.
I was innocent then.
Not even a lover.
We just swallowed each other’s kisses.
An hour before she rode me dry in my car.
Fogged autumn windows
Tail lights were out.
In the wood paneled basement, we sat
Lying on the leather couch she began
Slowly inching downwards
Unbuckled, unbuttoned, pulled
She encompassed me with her lips
Whole in its entirety
The feeling reminded me
All the previous times of self-pleasure
Growing up so unexperienced
Sliding, gliding with her tongue
Such intensity
I could not believe what I saw before me.
Her red hair is all I see
What I feel is wet
Explosive in my teen sensations
Her parents walked upstairs
Back and forth, back and forth
On the linoleum kitchen floor
I feared they would come down
To discover their innocent daughter
Mouth wrapped around me
Before they took steps downward
I drowned her throat
With my first vocal cavity emergence.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.11.14.23:37:42@296NYC
How Many Times
Do I masturbate,
before I fall in love
with my non-existent
lover which completes my life?
Do I masturbate,
to the fantasy
of falling deeply in love
with that single one other person?
Do I masturbate,
while listening to the music which saddens me
because of the eternal lack
of a significant other?
Do I masturbate,
to the playboys plastered in my mind
while contemplating my age
before I’ll meet the lover of my dreams?
Do I masturbate,
myself to sleep,
with my hand on my heart?
© 2005 David Gerg Harth
03.09.27.03:14:04@296NYC
05.07.06.02:35:06@296NYC
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
I adore you.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
I want to make love to you.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Trap me in the corner.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Push me to the face.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Take off your skin.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Bring me to a boil.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Sing me a song.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Wake up to your breakfast.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Discover your breaks.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Leave you on the floor.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Summer is gone.
Hot Warm Gooey Eggs In Brown,
Open up the fridge door.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.07.07.19:11:00@523W24STNYCMMRKS
Held to Words
She held me to my words,
she held me to the false promises
the false truths
the false love.
She held me in her arms
as I said my last words
upon my death bed
bleeding inside
from never being loved
on this jobless day.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.03.30.01:15:41@296NYC
Hallelujah (Version #2)
My voice can be heard
Today
It is not just another day
from yesterday
Today,
My voice can be heard
In these mountains.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.09.03.17:05:13@1515NYC
Hungry
Hungry inside
Burns
Burns inside
This vacancy
This void
Empty canister of potions
Fully loaded lotions
Ready to be deployed
One more pull
It might just end
I’m hungry
My eyes say it
My lips speak it
I’m hungry for you
I’m on the prowl
You better watch out
I’ll roar in your backyard
I’ll mark my territory with my scent
I’ll growl beneath your bed sheets
I’m hungry
Tense in the shoulders
I’m bulging
Packing
Heated
I’m hungry
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.08.13.17:14:14@1515NYC
Happiness
Everyone was expecting me
The guest of honor
To be at the event of celebration
Instead
The first was to find me
Alone among her beauty
Found me in a pool of red
Soaked in the grey floor
Of my street address
The second to come down on in
She walked in and heard the soundtrack playing
The score of death
They were not quite sure when it happened
And the third man of beauty arrived
Took things into perspective and placed a few phone calls
The fourth and fifth arrive
Not knowing the horror, they have found
The sixth phones the studio
The seventh comes without any I AMs
But with greenbacks to trade
With a man who lay dead
Eighth walks in with Sixth
Out from the warm street
The Ninth in love, now bows in sadness
Tenth and Eleventh come with unexpected Twelfth
Tears pour into the pools I lay deep in
As Thirteenth and Fourteenth and Fifteenth do not show
Sixteenth is gone
Seventeenth has not phoned
Eighteenth comes with a drink in hand
No scotch by my side
A paper Will in the cabinet
A collection for you, and a collection for you
Nineteenth and Twentieth
They all arrive, the music changes
Valentine cards done, in the head
A fan rotating overhead
A poem of sorrow, a poem of hope
A poem of laughter, a poem of memory
Twenty-first and Twenty-second,
They file in one after the other
Hugging and gathering
Coroner long over due
Police come in; I remember that September
True ones never said hello, only have forgotten
The celebration is today
The funeral is at a day’s notice
Pack your belongings and say goodnight
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.07.10.03:09:21@296NYC