10th of July

I heard the shuffle of angel’s feet

Because today I managed to take my dagger

And deepen the hole that creates

My own passion and pain

I’ll see you next year

Same time, same place

Quarter of a century, as long as you remember

Bury me in the garden of the lost

Have bagpipes play at my funeral

And play the soundtrack for all

And let the womyn and men in blue jeans

Create paintings on the grassy hillside

Hear my song and chant

Listen to the wind, the music of the night

Dance naked in front of the wildfire

And look in the mirror and see my shadow

Today I’m an angel

Hear my feet sliding and stomping

Hear my heart pounding and my veins popping

Think about the times

And now I hold my dagger closer

Today is a day how we all remembered him

Always fucking around, not one soul knew truth

Except for the great spirit in Missouri land

Look into my blue eyes

Tell me what you see

Search the rest of the earth

And what you have forgotten

We lay him to rest

On this tenth day of July

In Nineteen Ninety Nine

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.07.10.00:00:00@NYC

A Virgin

Oh my god, I did not tell you what happened with that cab driver I

went with last night.  I thought I was going to be possibly kidnapped,

DEFINITELY raped and possibly killed.  He was just basically telling

me how he and his fiancé never had sex and that he is worried about

the first time.  It was an arranged proposal by his mother and he has

yet to see the fiancé.  From this he is asking me about his first

experience to come such as if she is going to bleed a lot or a little and

should he continue or stop and if he does not stick it in the whole

way is it considered sex still and if I had a boyfriend and how my

first time was so I told him that you were my boyfriend and that we

never had sex.  I told him I was still a virgin and he was SO happy.

I was hoping telling him I was a virgin would make him more

compassionate about raping me if that was his intentions.  I figured

that would make him wait to take a slut instead or at least someone

“experienced”.  Anyway..his cell phone rang and I sat in silence for

the remainder of the way.

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.07.09.03:26:09 @ 296

New York City

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

Five Years At Least One

I remember growing up.

My dad was at Attica.

And I would burn ants as a kid.

And play with the rat poison mom had in the cabinet under the sink.

Richard and I would come up with these weird con-cock-shins.

Like little league volcano science experiments.

I grew up in a farm state.

Filled with apples and I remember cow tipping and buying crap at Sugar Loaf.

And being yelled at to “Just answer the fookin’ question” by my uncle who

gave me the big-ass tannish teddy bear.

I remember the Fourth of July when both of my grandfathers would come down

the walkway and shake hands with open arms, as if they haven’t seen

each other in years.

It’s funny, when I think about it, I remember seeing my next door neighbor

completely naked. She saw a sock on my cock and I saw her breasts divulge

that her puberty had beaten mine. I once saw a kid on a roof and once in a

puddle of rain.

All my memories fade away now in the sun, because that’s when I get these

awful headaches and have to run inside in the shade and darkness. And when

I do, I think of my father that I had lost in upstate New York. The 2nd

largest killing of Americans by Americans since the Civil War. I feel

bleeding on my side because of that, and I’ll never be complete. Even though

I gain a brother every now and then.

I wonder where Jessica is. She sure was pretty, her golden long hair in

braids. That’s what I remember. Too bad I repress certain memories, she

wasn’t my kid. I would have supported her if she was. She didn’t have my

eyes. My eyes. You know what I mean. I’m a seduction sucker. But do I get

sucked or do I suck?

If I asked you to sit in the photobooth and take a photo with me, would

you? That reminds me, I have to go to the meat market and get something for

a self-portrait. Christo said that something was not his and I believed him.

Because I’m unconditional, that’s why I can do this. And he was broken and

bent out of shape? Maybe he should have gone to the doctor then, right?

Doctor? Page them please.

My grandfather would make little toy cars out of Quaker Oat Meal cylinder

cartons and pencils. He also helped me to draw. I remember one distinct

thing he taught me. If you look at the corner of a room, where the two

walls meet, the seam; you’ll notice that its actually lighter than the two

walls. You might think that this is wrong, but actually the two walls are

both reflecting light into the seam, hence, making it brighter. I recall

drawing a pack of True cigarettes with him one day.

She made some pasta for me, and we had some wine. She danced Infront of me

in my year of Nineteen Ninety Nine. We went skinny dipping in her outdoor

pool and the towel she wrapped herself in dropped to the floor.

I was making a list the other day and I was checking it twice. I didn’t want

to see who was naughty and who was nice. A lot are not nice and I want some

more to be naughty. Say naughty. Be naughty with me. Let’s get together and

feel all right. I’m a rebel and I can hear the chimes in the wind. And see

the kite fly above me on the beach of the New Jersey shore. I’m not from

there.

One time I had a friend that introduced me to frog legs. He was an artist

at Columbia. He killed these little frogs and used the back leg muscles to

operate his art frog that was made of metal and machinery. It was a robot

frog with real muscles. David must have thought and wondered if the world

changed just because this little frog left the world. Kind of like when you

step into the ocean, the entire ocean rises around the earth, just because

you are in it! Amazing.

He had a dream about urinating in garbage cans. One Infront of Robin, one

Infront of Travis.

It’s kind of like design, or performance, or a bad artist, or bad move.

Almost like chess, but not checkers; that’s a hot dog, run it through, drag

it through the garden, take me to the river.

I once knew a man that had steel plates in his head. After gutting him I

tied my shoelaces around his neck and hanged him out in the yard.

My brother once taught me about love. But he left the family and has never

come back. He stole lots of things and hearts but I forgave him. He’s my

Valentine, and you are not. Do you hear that laughing or is it the gas in

my head?

Anyway, just a taste of fluid, that today, might be 100%. But give me at

most five years at least one year and I’ll show you something strange in the

mirror. But I won’t be talkin’ to you for a while. Sorry Pop, you know it

and I know it, I’ll catch your tears, if you catch mine.

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.06.20.23:59:25 @ 296NYC

Fathers Day 1999

99.06.24.03.15:21 @ 296NYC

Thursday after eating some French Toast at VG Bar

Romance

I like the smell of your grape breath

Your New Jersey hairspray

I see your piglet ass

Tight red shirt and blonde hair

Like an ambitious tour and cherished moment

Silver shirt like the shot-gun used to wear

And I have hung

Your goods are baked just right

I’ll never forget handcuffing you

And recalling stories about what he did to you

In that limousine

I took a train ride and met them in Westchester

I took a train ride and met them in Long Island

I took a train ride and met them in Brooklyn

I took a ferry ride and met her in Fort Lee

I could have taken a ferry ride and met them in Staten Island

And I remember the joke my grandfather used to say

I collected the photographs

Didn’t take any yet

I have to phone her back

Wish I had a clock

And a few extra bucks

Thank you for the Oreo cookies

It was quite a dinner!

Where is she, I want to lay beside her

And whisper sweet poetry in her ear

Thank you for the strawberries

I’ll trace your inner thigh with my finger

Later tonight

They didn’t have a good selection in Denver

I paid in Seattle

Bermuda had free ones on the beach

Give me some Mahi-Mahi and bananas too

Wishing upon a star is silly

Hey, you, yes you -

Would you take a shower with me?

God I love showers.

Soapy wet, yum yum!

I wonder who it is

A reader? A volunteer? A hider?

It’s time to go

I’ll get the door

Look who it is

Dressed inappropriately tonight

Who hates that word?

I was once on a cruise ship and tossed plates to the sharks

Not to mention that Richard threw a beach chair over board

Did I say that? Did I make that up?

It’s kind of like the Ten Commandments yet I have a bible

I’m a witness are you?

Time to get romantic

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.06.15.01:51:33 @ 296 NYC

Circles

If you happen to bump into me tomorrow

Or see me

You’ll notice something new

Something different

Great big red rings

Circles

Circles around my neck

Around my wrists

Circles from my knife

Traveling around my wrists

Around and around

Cutting and slicing open the skin

Making it warm red

And irritated

The same around my entire neck

A complete circle around

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.06.15.01:49:26 @ 296 NYC

Medium

Not quite large

But bigger than small

Not happy

Nor sad

Just about on the line

Or even

On the line

She thought he knew

He only saw a thin line

He balanced

And waited to cross

He thought she knew

She was medium

Sized perfect

Waiting for something

Medium

Like between a devil and a dove

Mint chocolate chip ice cream

Dog walking bird chirping

Silent waves

Medium

Waiting of the time spent

Recalled

Like an opera singer

In the musical devotion

Have a bottle of wine

Medium

Put Bob Marley on

And relax in a bath

Candles burn

Chill

Be medium

But be beyond

Medium

California dressing

Undress

Bermuda shorts

Miami screams

Medium

Reaching upwards

Bending and curving

Hear the calling

Medium

Howling at the wind

Or just the full moon

Picture snapped

Etched in my head

Medium

Don’t fear

Just go medium

Medium shade

Medium drive

Medium pulse

Medium rocket

Medium honey

Medium sheet

Medium paint brush

Medium color

Medium whiteness

Medium

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.06.10.14:29:57@1515nyc

Sunday

I was with my family and friends at dinner

When I looked down upon each of my wrists

And had gaping holes in them

On the underside of the arm

My arteries were open

With black holes like dark shark eyes

And blood was spurting out

And dripping beyond

I look over the white linen table cloth

And it’s soaked with my rich red blood

I feel wet coldness on my shoulders

As old blood from the ceiling sprays upon me

I awkwardly look at my family and friends for help

Only to find they have no faces

But traces of dust shadows

I arise with my palms at my side

I look lost and had panic eyes in my skull

I step outside to my red earth haunting

And the sky is dark

And the stars are pelting down to the land

Like fireballs from hell

Dark black clouds rolling

And brought deep thunder

A blood red lightning that came up from the land

Creating cracks of flowing red rivers

And leeches and parasites unearthed

With swollen glands and venous eyes

I died in my ache

As I became engulfed —

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.06.06.12:25:00@FLT#1750

99.06.07.00:25:10@296NYC

Turning Insides

I love it

And I hate it

When things are in the flow

Like Yin & Yang

Do you know what I mean?

The other day, I was talking to a friend

About the full moon

The next night I look up, and the next, and just yesterday too,

The moon is full

In glory

The other day, I wrote a poem

And referred to Lord Of The Flies

And what do you know

Just the other day after that,

On the television I see

Lord Of The Flies

The other day, I listened to a song

I haven’t heard it in years

And then

I’m sitting in the diner to eat

And what do I hear?

That song

The other day, I was driving

Down along the Hudson

I wish I would hear this one song

Or at least a song from this band I know

And you know what happened?

The song I was thinking of

By the band I wanted

Just played on the radio

As I drove along

The other day, I admitted to myself

That I’m quite attracted to those New York City women

Who wear those pointed cow boy hats

It’s such a turn-on

It drives me crazy

Delicious

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.06.01.12:53:49 @ 296 w/PIP&59@287

Selfish Learning

Velvet Elvis hangs on the mango wall

The elderly couple walk in from early-bird

   and the dog races

Last week it thunder rained

This week all sunshine

She used dry chalk for make up

And rotated Q-tips in her waxy ears until they bled

She brushed fake her teeth clean

   until the gums became a ravishing red and sore with blood

At night she cried in her death sleep and

   choked on her salt tears

Her husband wakes up

   and cleans her ass full of waste and debris

   from the restless night

He has a fag in the dawn light

   looking at his love

She raises herself upwards

  giving birth once more

  to a hairless creature of blind faith and albino devotion

It stinks of raw fish in the smoldering hot room

The paint chips and falls

And the vinyl player dances

Scum baby, Scum baby

The baby delivers his blue eyes

And the theatre audience looks on

The husband wishes he had a fuck

And sweet Jane gives good head

After her bladder gives new

She gets up on her all fours

Wham Bam Thank you Ma’am husband hops on board

And whales the fragile chalked woman

From behind

   way up in the ass

And the day starts once more

Married for only two years

On the west coast of Florida

They keep making children with no eyes and

   Velcro hair

Both previous spouses

   died in horrible car accidents or natural causes

The doctor came today and tied up the husband

   really good

The doctor fucked his wife today

And now the husband knows candle pain

The children scatter on the household floor

   imitate their dying parents

   by playing house and doctor

   with toys from the closet and cupboard

The doctor leaves

   untying the husband

   leaving him to clean up the mess on his wife’s

   old sagging tits

And sending the bill in the mail

The aging couple repeat yesterday’s day

  and when they lay to sleep

  once again

They pray that they will be the first one to die

  so, they will not once more be in mourning

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.21.21:08:44 @ 1515/296 New York City

99.05.28.19:02:32 @ 1515/296 New York City

99.06.01.02:34:24 @ 1515/296 New York City

54 look-a-likes (Version #1)

I saw a man that looked like Greg

I saw a woman that looked like Tiffani

I saw a man that looked like Jon

I saw a woman that looked like Jill

I saw a man that looked like Mike

I saw a woman that looked like Nina

I saw a man that looked like Scott

I saw a woman that looked like Mimi

I saw a man that looked like James

I saw a woman that looked like Carol

I saw a man that looked like Travis

I saw a woman that looked like Maggie

I saw a man that looked like Thomas

I saw a woman that looked like Ruby

I saw a man that looked like Dave

I saw a woman that looked like Doris

I saw a man that looked like Chris

I saw a woman that looked like Diane

I saw a man that looked like Marshall

I saw a woman that looked like Debra

I saw a man that looked like Opa

I saw a woman that looked like Carrie

I saw a man that looked like Matt

I saw a woman that looked like Constance

I saw a man that looked like Paul

I saw a woman that looked like Megan

I saw a man that looked like Jim

I saw a woman that looked like Nancy

I saw a man that looked like Jeff

I saw a woman that looked like Robin

I saw a man that looked like David

I saw a woman that looked like Jennie

I saw a man that looked like Me

I saw a woman that looked like Kathleen

I saw a man that looked like Peter

I saw a woman that looked like Erin

I saw a man that looked like Richard

I saw a woman that looked like Susan

I saw a man that looked like Jack

I saw a woman that looked like Claudia

I saw a man that looked like Ben

I saw a woman that looked like Jen

I saw a man that looked like Henry

I saw a woman that looked like Mandy

I saw a man that looked like Tim

I saw a woman that looked like Babette

I saw a man that looked like Lance

I saw a woman that looked like Amanda

I saw a man that looked like Charley

I saw a woman that looked like Sarah

I saw a man that looked like Kai

I saw a woman that looked like Marlene

I saw a man that looked like Patrick

I saw a woman that looked like Stacey

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.25.4:03:02 @ 1515 nyc

Midnight

Midnight we hear their laughter

Noon we remember their cries

And taste their foreign tears

Late afternoon I smelt her in the air

Waves coming over me, pulsating perfume

And taste my youth of trapped dreams

Late June the end is near

Beginning July, they all forget and I crawl

August I’m in heat

September rain comes the fall

Man slipping off a roof’s edge

As the English sip their tea

October I recall

November I don’t thank you for killing my natives

December we get drunk and wonder

Go on to the next promising year

And depression sets on those days

Of holiday wonder we die

Midnight we hear their laughter

Noon we remember their cries

And taste their foreign tears

Beginning years of January, we stand the bitter cold

February we get lost in love of hallmark and the red zone

Which is not my erogenous zone

March we come out and pop and die under sunshine

April glitz and maple gritz

May suck me up

And become an interviewee

Shout

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.21.16:37:44 @ 1515 nyc

Without You

I saw the thorn twist in your side

And I was so revolted that there was a thorn in your thigh

I just had to lean over

And relieve myself of this morning’s breakfast

And I realized

I can live without you

And I can’t live with you

How can I go on with you if you have a damn thorn in your thigh?

Why don’t you go to the dermatologist and have that removed?

You gave yourself away and you still expect me to be with you?

That’s insane.

And then on top of that and your thorn in your thigh

You tied my hands up like a silly S&M director

I couldn’t win

You always lost

It was kind of like a tie, like my hands.

You thorny whore!

Go back for some more!

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.21.16:29:34@1515NYC

harth, being silly

Stolen Cream

Before the rush came. Before the Christie’s men in black escorted the collectors, the rich, the famous, the infamous, and the wasted, with umbrellas from the extended cars on the rainy street to the covered building of thousands, I ran. I swiftly ran inside, all dressed in artists attire; black pants, black shirt, black shoes, black ski mask, as fast as I could, I ran. Swiftly with a gentle crowbar in black-gloved hand, I ran to the center. There in the glass case at waist height was the magnificently lit art. Flesh toned rubber and silk blues and yellows with laser guided video for my home entertainment system. With a flash and a crack I smashed the thin, yet elegant, glass covering. No one in sight, not a soul hears the breakage, the symbols, I smash. With my huge powerful downward motion, one swoosh of angry art and emotion. The glass broken, not a cut, not a curve, not a cream. I leave the flesh and satin and silk and flowers alone. Today I just grab the disc. The secret code, the pleasure dome, and provide you all with video cameras on this advertising day! As swiftly as I ran in, I run out. With laserdisc under my arm and crowbar swinging overhead, like a wild boar from Lord Of The Flies, or a huge black King-Kong, I run. Straight pass the umbrella sculptures waiting to come alive, I run into the darkness to bootleg my way to stardom, to surrender to the darkness, to deface Picasso and become an art thief of my own obsession.

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.20.04:49:44 @ 296 New York City

Turnstile

Turnstile

It’s my style

Feel the cologne rubbing on my thigh

New wave hair-dos

I wanna be traveling at speed

Revolving

Passing through, going to the underground

Subway passageway

Delicious

Turnstile

Turnstyle

It’s not my way of life

But I’m committed with my hard work

And saving attitude

Time and Time and Time

Turnstile

To everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

Around

Rotate

Spin-Dry

Twister

Left foot my bed

Turnstile

1635-45

Numbered

Educated

Taught

Experienced

Made me deliver for you

The orange man knows

Turnstile

Number six downtown

Mr. Noisy

Mr. Tonight

Ms. Sexy

Ms. Mix

Turnstile

Dollar fifty

I’ll write a letter

My time is worth more than three minutes

Of an eighteen-minute session

Because I’ve just been used

Turnstile

Turn-around

Brush around

Blush

I blush

See the big vein pop in my forehead

Foreskin

Foresee

For come

Forth

Faith

Filth

God

Turnstile

It’s my swagger

A jack-o-lantern

A red ruby lipstick

Purple added

Strawberry

Red down there

Here

Turnstile

Imprinted

Stainless steal

Took and stole

Drum beat

Indians

And passion

Turnstile

On forever

Turning

Playing

Traveling

Walking-thru

Disease

Trapped

Turnstile

Bent

Forward

Death to the maids

The cross-dresser vacuum cleaners

Turnstile

I’m bleeding at my side

I took the gun from your bathroom

And now I hold it in front of your face

We hear sirens in the background

I drop to my knees

No

But No

I’m better than you

With a gun pointed at you

You taught me well

But I’m not you

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.18:04:12:49@296NYC

He is Witnessitis

He painted his fingers

He will wait for the sheep to come to him

He likes the smell of fresh baked bread

He wishes to dine with her at that silver place

He rides a bike

He conquers cities

He owns a gun that he does not wish to use

He dies every day

He is in heat

He strays from the junkies and thieves

He hears people tell him that he is a manipulator

He walks the streets full of subconscious persons

He is not prestige enough

He must take photographs

He is gay, he is an artist, he writes poetry, he must be gay

He lasts with a golden flower

He paid his dues

He has no best friend

He drives a Porsche

He develops his own drugs

He is an angel

He has curiosity that kills him on corners

He has not been mugged

He crosses the street in front of speeding cars

He cleans up his city

He is full of noise and quietness

He will beat the living shit out of you if you fuck up

He would die for a friend or any other being

He loves to read

He eats language for breakfast

He was the one that started the fire

He can take the blame

He smelt death

He bashed his head on four nails on a locked door to say peace nightly

He danced to the punk scene for inspiration

He has a heavy lord

He melts like burnt buffalo

He is new year’s special

He laughed at serious love

He created a symphony with blood and semen

He was taught

He left suddenly and unexpectedly

He never gave the tape to each one

He chained her down

He floated

He became your memory

He carved the orange tree

He thought of a new ism in his itis

He is an important witness

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.18:02:09:49@296NYC

Drifters

I hate the drifters

That come from city to city

Hole to hole

They just come here to steal, absorb and conquer

They dig their trenches

And bury us in our flooded redness

Beat

And felt up like a hell-hole

Of under represented

Not respected twenty-eights

Drifters

Those fuckers

The nerve of them

Giving me unordered spinal-taps

Making me have oral condensation

Listening to star

They come and go

Travel on

But I don’t need them

Or you

Because you abused

You used

You are a drifter

I hate those drifters

In and out they come

They never stay a while

For a cup of English tea

They take away our teddy bears

No try-ons, just thieves

Everyone is like a walking sarcophagus

Filled with freshly read newspapers

They borrow and burrow deep down inside

They don’t get to know

The take and never give

Those drifters

The just spend your money

And waste your time for some delight

And leave out the back door

With your warm towel

Damn drifters.

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.10.02:05:04 @ 296

99.05.11.12:17:28 @ 296

99.05.13.13:32:25 @ 1515

PUNK

tough

it’s in, it’s out

a twist of lime

a fruit drink inside

a wonder bread

a tornado head

a cold rain

a pouring drain

it’s time to go

inside-out

down and about

red, orange, green and blue

fly-like-colors

howling wind

fly-like-colors

no dust in my teeth

bite my lip

i bite my lip

take you up

towers of lust

desire a must

on top of that temple

steps to the holy one

never take one

a cherry tree

drop yours tonight

love birds in sight

wanted and believed

greys between

living colors

no waisted horrors

smart time

to my chime

it’s a wanted one

a soul of two

a connected pair

its time little frog

webbed feet

duck your head

under counter

it’s time to be a lemon

a grateful sin

a dead pig

drowning meat

no vegetables in the heat

i am in need

for that lovey speed

smoke it up

junk it up

punk it up

fill me up

i am in need

for that lovey speed

deal me a drug

flow me up inside

cover me in white

all over; i wont bite

colors;

they fly like jets

red, white, & blue

skies in russia

skies in america

japan & zealand

guatemala & fruit lands

they fight like army men

warriors of hell

painted faces; portraits of heroes

it’s a shoot

captain, a cigar

rip down the road

a drag mobile

wind turning

dog barking

zoom in

zoom out

it’s about that time

out - and - about

i am in need

for a cold rain

and a pouring drain

it’s time to go

inside-out

down and about

round

round

beach ball play

womyn in suits

men in sun-tan

palm beach springs

and new orleans

lima, I sinka your marina

beauty, no queen, ill split your spline

no more

time to go

split out

colors about

explode

i need some

big bang

fighter plane

above and beyond

no place to go

run in

run out

zoom about

it’s time to become a monument

© 1999 David Greg Harth

97.07.07.23:34:11 @ 31 NYC

99.05.07.16:55:03 @ 1515 NYC

99.05.10.03:37:35 @ 296 NYC

Escape

Taste the divine tears

Feel the thorns that grow inside

Sink your toes into the sand

Relax with lemonade as the sun sets on the bay

Play hide-and-seek with me

Frolic on the beach and between the palms

Jingle in the nude and be jolly in the moonlight

And the cascading shadows over the night ocean

Look at yourself in the mirror

Standing and looking and passionate

Do something different

Runaway and escape

Stay in your stillness

I’m painting your portrait

On my canvas and embracing your image

In my mind of lust

Kissing your navel

The ocean breeze travels across our bodies

Tracing your curves with a purple rose

To escape in the ocean of beauty

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.07.16:36:54 @ nyc usa (1515)

99.05.10.01:20:46 @ nyc usa (296)

I’m laughing at you

I’m laughing at you

As the clock ticks away

Timing going by

Traveling through the space that we bend

And soap up the experience

I’m laughing at you

Because you are blind

And dance alone on the parquet floor

Scented like a purple rose of earthly delight

I’m laughing at you

When the children play on the rusty swing set

On the park bench I wait

And you only pretend in the rain showers

I’m laughing at you

As you giggle in your sleep

And wake up to the sunrise of yesterday

And wonder if he had lied and if I was right

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.07.16:42:19@1515