Not In My Heart
From the red cliffs
I shout a deep shout
You are not allowed in
In my heart
No dreaming allowed
No occupation could occur
My heart is closed
Its doors are shut
Its locks are turned
Nothing goes in
Nothing goes out
From the red cliffs
I shout a deep shout
You are not allowed in
In my heart
No imagination in motion
No habitation
My heart is closed
Its chambers no longer function
Its flow discontinued
Nothing goes in
Nothing goes out
From the red cliffs
I shout a deep shout
You are not allowed in
In my heart
No romantic gaze enters
No radiating warmth shared
My heart is closed
Its impenetrable borders are up
It’s sealed forever
Nothing goes in
Nothing goes out
From the red cliffs
I shout a deep shout
You are not allowed in
My heart is endlessly closed
Imprisoned from deep within
Nothing goes in
Nothing goes out
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.12.20.23:36:14@130BklynNYC
I’m Forgetting
I’m forgetting those moments and mysteries
Those violations and transitions
Those constellations and presentations
I forget to pause
To think and breathe
I forget to live life
I forget your name, I forget your face
I forget what you smell like and how your voice sounds
I forget this fantasy, this dynasty
I forget the past, the present
I forget to dream and forget my purpose and forget the drive
I forget the milk, I forget the eggs
I forget to call, I forget to write
I’m forgetting everything
My numbers, my phone, my address, my book
My place, my birth, my time, my location
I’m forgetting my senses
I’m forgetting my reasons
I’m forgetting my songs, my disease, my search
I’m forgetting my love, my loneliness, my capital, my gain
I forget which road to take, which path to walk
Which turn to take, which switch to operate
Which signal to read, which offer to take
I’m forgetting everything beyond everything
My left from right, and right from left
My bible, my pencil, my pen, my paper
I’m forgetting the lyrics, forgetting the birthdays
I’m forgetting my appointments, forgetting my meetings
I’m forgetting each time, every time, future time
I’m forgetting this, that, and this and that
I’m forgetting what it’s like
I’m forgetting where to go
I’m forgetting what to do
I forget my place and forget my memory
I forget nothing to everything
I forget how to end
I’m forgetting to forget
And I forget the forgetting
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.12.14.09:48:11@130BklynNYC
Bridge Of Kings
I.
So tired, so lonely
So alone, so disheartened
So dead, before you died
Missing Oma
Dying without function
Dying with your son not talking to your granddaughter
Dying with your son not talking to your grandson
Dying without your brother, without your sister
Dying with nothing in hand, everything in heart
II.
I haven’t found my love
Before Oma’s death I wished
Before your death I wished more
Before burial of one more I wish heavenly so
You said your last goodbye
I held your hand as you held mine
Tomorrow I’ll say one last farewell
As I see you lowered to ascend
III.
At the gates
His Love welcomes him
The legend, The man
Who gave so much
I watch from a distance
As he crosses
The Bridge of Kings
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.12.09.09:40:15@130BklynNYC
Delayed Departure
You growl and moan death rattles
Send a howling wind across the room
Haunting deep songs echoed
Your baby brown eyes are closed shut
As if a tailor had sewn them permanently
To prevent one last look, one last glance
Your dry tongue cracked like the earth’s desert
On the roof and sides of your mouth
Resides a collection of yellow pus like material
A crackling cough is produced with congestion and mucous
Airways now clogged with life, delaying your wished departure
You are late, but your flight will take off
Bad breadth swarms your last cries
Your fresh new diaper emanates
Smells of shit and urine
You bring your left hand to your head
Combing your hair in the opposite direction
Your left arm crosses to bring your limp right one to your chest
Right leg lays still and lifeless
With a gathering of toes overlapping toes
Your nails are fungus ridden, on both feet and your right hand
You look like a photograph I’ve seen from the Holocaust
One of those humans in a pile on the street
Discarded but never forgotten
Your skin is melting off your skeleton
The skinny bones now draped in flesh
Falling off your frail frame, discarding their use
Fragile and splintering
Like a wishbone about to be broken
A twig fallen from the autumn tree
So pale and ghostly
You are white as a winter day
Flaking into eternal dust
Every day you were cold
Bundled in sweaters and shirts and layers
Now you remove the sheets and blankets, warm, moving toward the light
The oversized diaper reveals
Your thin scattered pubic hair
Long strands like Okinawa grass coming forth
Blood clots and scabs and bruises line the contour of your body
Gateways and damns preventing life and death
Your chest bruised from where we tried to wake you
Dentures sit in a plastic jar of water on the porcelain sink
Your aged cheeks sunken in, your moustache still proud
When you sneeze, your left hand automatically wipes your nose
Weight has gone rapidly, more than before
Your wedding band is too big for your thin finger
The ring is sliding off, slowly inching towards the dirt below
Your nipples protrude stiffly through your hospital gown
I can see the impression of the pacemaker on your chest
And feel the slight amount of hair on your arm
Your body quivers now and then
In an uncontrollable vibrating motion
Your knees and legs tremble to a rhythm unknown
You still carry a full head of hair
Thick grey hair so white
You have hair of God
When I kiss you goodbye, afraid I am not
On your cheek, your lips, your forehead
I say goodbye every day
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.12.07.11:18:47@306Greenwall2545UnivBronxNYC
Waiting (Version #3)
I’m sitting next to you
At your bedside
In this sterile room
Of a Bronx hospital
Your reasons are gone
And your spirit has departed
Your hand is still warm
Your mouth, still damp
You don’t know that I am here
You cannot feel my touch
Hear my voice
Or see my soul
Together we are just waiting
Waiting for you to die
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.12.02.11:14:00@Greenwall2545UnivBronxNYC
The Last Hour
His clock strikes one last hour
Holding his warm hand
I cry like I’ve never cried before
He doesn’t hear me
He doesn’t see me
No vital support
No vibrant life
His last hour has arrived
© 2009 David Greg Harth
Death is the End
I watch you slowly depart
Every organ halts
Even your heart
Uncontrollable body secretions
Beg for quick departure
Plead to escape these institutions
So grey and white
Old and pale
Perhaps taken this very night
Frail pile of bones
In a year’s time
Your grave covered in stones
Prayer to your Lord
No more despair
These gates you migrate toward
Last goodbyes
No more heartache
Lost loving eyes
Join her in heaven
Your one true love
One floor above eleven
You’ve lasted so long
Your voyage has begun
You’re about to sing your last song
At the end
All that is left is death
As the angel does descend
Almost free
You are at peace
Where you want to be
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.11.23.01:51:28@130BklynNYC
List of 10: Cities I’ve Visited
1. Berlin
2. Tokyo
3. Rome
4. Beirut
5. Istanbul
6. Basel
7. Ramallah
8. Madrid
9. Athens
10. London
Note: Cities are listed in random order, not chronologically.
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.11.08.24:41:27@130BklynNYC
Disease of Difference
In my land of Palestine
I discovered a gold mine
Traveled to the Golan Heights
Witnessed forbidden sights
Washing out the dust
Telling these stories, I must
This smoke, this history
I surrender to the border control
To high walls and west banks
I smuggle in humanity
The necessary, the water
My black shoes now white
From white rock and desert trees
Powder of a thousand years and a thousand deaths
Government forced blood tears
Apples and infiltrators crossing borders
Syrian students hidden from their mothers
Destroyed a Jew, destroyed a martyr
I climbed these walls of stone, I walked over water
Stealing Jerusalem, tunnel digging
Launching rockets, rope rigging
Victory is yours and victory is mine
Rip out the signage and rip out my spine
Jews and Muslims embedded in bed
No answers, no reasons, bury the dead
In cloaks and hats and veils they dressed
A disease of difference confessed
Makes no sense or cents, no flood, no blood
I brush my hair, I brush my teeth
I trust you with rock, I trust you with flame
Their weak heavy tanks roll over my feet
Gather at my wooden table and let us meet
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.10.17.11:30:00@TK001Istanbul-NYC
09.11.07.23:57:53@130BklynNYC
Hard (Version #2)
It’s so incredible hard to go on -
To live every day and not be in love.
I ache constantly for you.
It’s one thing I’ve always wanted
All of my friends know it, my family too
Even my nephew recently asked me,
“Did you meet any new girls? So, you don’t have any new girlfriends?”
I have none.
No one is in my heart.
No one has captured it.
No one has claimed ownership.
Where are you?
I plead for you to come forth.
End my misery of terrible ache.
My drowning sorrows.
This bad day dream.
Let me love you,
Like you love me.
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.10.21.09:51:38@130BklynNYC
Lost Without
Lonesome journey remains
Ache circulated through my veins
Diving off the cliff of the unknown
Body limp in a pile of bone
Let your will be left to the wind
In this holy land I have sinned
Freedom sent to the local crusade
I dropped to my knees and prayed
Search for you makes me fatigued
What you bring keeps me intrigued
Shouting from the mosque at night fall
Slip away and plunge from the wall
Alone with no direction
I plead to you for a little affection
Guide me to a brighter light
Save me from my death tonight
Years pass in time, dying slowly without
Give me rope, rescue me from this drought
Looking and waiting, I beg for you to come forth
Hidden, I am lost without my North
09.10.05.11:02:00@BirzeitPalestine
09.10.05.20:57:58@AthensGreece
She Doesn’t Know
Wake up
Slowly rise from your secure sheets
Set aside last year’s tears
Paperwork is done
Signatures made it complete
I love her beyond any moon’s dream
I love her from eternity to infinity
How come she doesn’t know?
I haven’t told her yet.
Wake up
From the sleep which hides you
Bring forth your beauty
Allow me to enter you
As no man has entered you before
I love her more than the stars cradle the moon
I love her more than the waves break on the beach
How come she doesn’t know?
I haven’t told her yet.
Wake up
Let my whispers guide you
Let my gentle touch caress you
This heart belongs to you
Forever you may keep its chambers
Let our lips collide
Through transatlantic borders we do not divide
Love like this will never hide
How come she doesn’t know?
I haven’t told her yet.
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.09.26.14:29:05@BirzeitPalestine
BC2
I’m better off with a graphite stick
Behind my closed door
Beneath my wooden plank
Much better than before
Jesus Christ ruled and ruined my life
My gold is gone with spoiled sweat
And spent tears in my struggling strife
Roadside bombs
Light up the avenues at night
I told sister, I’m not going to moms
Holy monks on fire
Shafrazi, Solanas
Everyone I admire
Rachel’s object carefully kept
Burden you with a repeat
Three months in I quietly slept
I’m gay, I’m straight, I’m bi
Does it really matter to you
If I do or die?
Pull up alongside me
September spread in Vogue
Connective ladder is the key
Elevated to the likes of the common few
Hedge funders and President Emerita
Models and curators I can now screw
Lincoln crosses the street
Suicide inevitable
In Wyeth’s field of wheat
Dried without starch
Multiple mediums and now large
Recognition of nothing somethings
Let’s begin the charge!
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.09.10.19:57:00@CanalStQNYC
09.09.14.21:48:00@130BklynNYC
09.09.17.15:32:41@130BklynNYC
Problem Solver
Let’s stop eating --
My cock sure could use a good beating
These useless goats are stuck in my head
Son of Man told me to neighborly break bread
So, I’m howling at the moon and I’m not making any alterations
Saluting complex decisions made by enemy nations
U.S. of A. is launching radar-evading jet fighters
While Commies have jailed rebellious writers
Lower the disguise, do not hide
Not my fault, Dear President lied
Inside battle not yet won
Truth is, my grandfather thirsts for a gun
All is quiet with death at the door
My Muslim brothers declare a backyard war
While my ex-girlfriend is finally seeing someone new
Several months have passed, I remember you
Salty cow’s tongue (against my chest) tasted like honey
Sold under black market tables, whoring for lots of money
Packing up my luggage, heading for Argentina
For years I secretly wished to date last year’s ballerina
Once told a man that I’d be on a box of cereal
Addicted to St. Matthew’s Vaseline material
Milk missing and children missing
Shorelines of Jersey reminiscing
Scattered synapses transmitted
Neurological institute committed
One day masturbated in her sight
To Freud’s mother, a trans-Atlantic delight
Politics at Brooklyn’s wooden table
Architecture to God burned to a child’s fable
Remind you: my next-door resident is a digger
Truth is, I’d pull my grandfather’s trigger
Bring on the jungle and mount the Veteran’s flag
It’s my wide girth that gets every little old fart fag
Offend you with my art, offend you with my words
Fourth day sunrise, we’ll kiss the Kurds
Debt rises with the ticking of the clock
Mounting doubts among the shepherd’s flock
Worldwide spread of McDonald’s juicy lard
Let me promote myself and give you my card
Coffee consumed and I have to take a smelly piss
Exhausted of watching the common Republican hiss
Return of the fighter jet and grandfather’s revolver
How have I become the number one problem solver?
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.09.10.10:23:55@130BklynNYC
Starbucks Whore & Folgers Pimp
I will not hide
Declare the truth from deep inside
Broadcast my desire
The hills of Athens are on fire
I want to cup your perfect breast
From my palm to my mouth
Ideas simply suggest
So, remove your quill from your given
Install wishes to your lady’s driven
Touch your soft skin to mine
Let words intertwine
Round honey stare
Your skin sensitive and bare
From hourly champagne
To your splint with her in the rain
This is the break, the part, the area when you become a whore
From corner to corner, you always want more
Bring up the coffee to your rose lips
My caffeinated tongue shall trace the outline of your hips
But who am I? But just a Folgers Pimp
My beating heart has a continuous limp
Alone in my world of compositions
With coffee, we’ll have multiple positions!
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.08.30.19:51:33@130BklynNYC
Different
I woke up this morning,
And things were different.
I stayed in bed
To analyze these differences.
I started to speak languages foreign to my own tongue of American English.
I spoke Mandarin and Korean, German and Hebrew, French and Italian.
I spoke Polish and Spanish, Arabic and Swahili, Russian and Swedish.
I spoke Hindi and Danish, Polish and Japanese, Persian and Greek.
I spoke Lithuanian and Thai, Turkish and Portuguese, Catalan and Tonkawa.
To name a few.
I no longer had hair. Anywhere.
The hair on my arms was gone.
The hair under my arm pits.
The hair on my knuckles was gone, the hair on my toes was gone.
The hair on my legs, the hair on the back of my neck.
The hair on my head was gone.
My facial hair, my eyebrows, my eyelashes.
All my hair was gone.
The hair on my chest and the hair between my scrotum and anus.
I was smooth all over. Not a trace of hair. No evidence of its existence.
My hair was gone, I am bare.
Lying still
Thinking about these changes
These differences
I hear a sound upstairs.
A loud thump, a small bang, a coordinated rumble.
I don’t get out of my bed to investigate.
I stay still.
Different.
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.08.26.20:49:52@130BklynNYC
List of 10: Women I had sex with
1. Kate
2. Bonnie
3. Jocelyn
4. Luciana
5. Mindy
6. Ruth
7. Nancy
8. Hannah
9. Charlotte
10. Eve
Note: Names have been changed to protect the identity of those mentioned
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.08.16.22:46:00@130BklynNYC
Bought & Sold
I’ve bought
And I’ve sold
I’ve purchased
And I’ve had an all-day sale
I’ve paid too much
And made too little
I’ve taken
And I’ve given
I’ve traded
And I’ve bartered
I’ve borrowed, stolen,
And donated
I’ve done even exchanges,
Profited and debited
I’ve made bids
And I’ve been auctioned
I’ve been made
And I’ve just paid
I’ve bought
And I’ve sold
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.08.14.15:31:00@2550BronxNYC
Second Time
In the emptiness of it all
A string quartet plays melodies
Similar to the ones that of my grandfather hummed me to sleep
I break open
Pour the coffee, skip the milk, add the sugar
Silently sipping, now lukewarm after a few minutes wait
It was raining on that December day
I was brought by ambulance to the hospital
Given injections in my legs
Still, I lay
Still, I have become
No fear, or regrets
No embarrassments, no chartered waters
Like I said, no reasons, no more
I stand tall
With my fleshy weapon strong at my side
My eyes focused on the target
Rage in my heart — no sympathy
In my shade I cannot hide
In the sun, I will fade, and surely die
With no more options
No more running, making, inhaling
Without freedom
Without eight hours fight
Without her love
Only a small instance
Of left over scraps
Of left over disease
I beg you to forgive me
For what I am about to achieve
My achievement,
Museum quality
© 2009 David Greg Harth
09.08.12.21:08:31@130BklynNYC