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