I’ve Had Enough
I’m bored with today
I’ve had enough of passion and pain
I’ve had enough of guilt and grief
I’ve had enough of accessories
I’ve had enough of popularity contests
I’m longing for the future
I’ve had enough of building
I’ve had enough of unknown diseases
I’ve had enough of examination tables
I’ve had enough of your eyes and throat
I’m longing for October
I’ve had enough of summer
I’ve had enough of waitress looks
I’ve had enough of four-lane highways
I’ve had enough of cellular communication devices
I’m longing for stroke treatment
I’ve had enough of making purchases
I’ve had enough of copyrighting material
I’ve had enough of posing for the testing
I’ve had enough of losing the battle of the self
I’m longing for the gift
I’ve had enough of incomplete songs
I’ve had enough of wishing for dreams
I’ve had enough of fast food chains
I’ve had enough of tour accommodations
I’m longing for something new
I’ve had enough of fighting
I’ve had enough of believing in all
I’ve had enough of microwave ovens
I’ve had enough of elevator shaft re-runs
I’m longing for the cry on my shoulder
I’ve had enough of people wasting their life
I’ve had enough of death defeating popstars
I’ve had enough of victims and taxes
I’ve had enough of mothers close to the art
I’m longing for survival
I’ve had enough of canned vegetables
I’ve had enough of sitar instruments in my head
I’ve had enough of white knobs of undergarments
I’ve had enough of dot memories and black bananas
I’m longing for a dozen
I’ve had enough of money stories
I’ve had enough of fire promises
I’ve had enough of dead cooking
I’ve had enough of feeling evil
I’m longing for you
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.22.12:32:33 @ 296 NYC
Being Alone: Isolation
Silent Towers
Discrete Mountains
Cotton Plantations
Communicative Efforts
Reaching Regions
Pilgrimage Cross Checks
Limitation Events
Dying Ageless
Forgotten Chairs
Left Creme
Sugar Daddy
Silent Auction
Super Puppy
Sexxy Girl
Burnt Sienna
Survival Guide Complete
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.22.12:16:11@296NYC
Scent (Version #2)
I love it when
I can still smell your scent
On the bath towel you just used
On the pillow case you just slept on
On the shirt of mine you just borrowed
I love it when
I can smell your scent
When I’m up against your neck
Sleeping next to your shoulder
Or licking the curves of your back
I love it when
I can still smell your scent
On the sheets I wrap myself in
On the candle you just burned
On the soap you just used
I love it when
I can smell your scent
When I hold your hand
Remembering your eyes
Or kissing your lips
I love it when
I can still smell your scent
On the card you sent me
On the shoulder you cuddled upon
On the flowers you left behind
I love it when
I can smell your scent
When I’m hugging you goodbye and hello
Smiling with your heart
Or listening to your passion
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.20.09:14:13@296NYC
00.06.22.01:45:11@296NYC
Ache
Falling asleep
On my white sheets and feather pillows
My head in ache
I feel the warm trickle
First from my ears
On to my pillow
My ears bleeding
The red staining the white sheets
And tracing the curves of my ear
Then from my nose
The blood traveled down my lips
Hitting the sheets
I bled from the holes in my wrists
And the holes in my ankles
Like my soul bleeding
The red rivers flowing
Feeling like I’m no longer the significant person I used to be
Losing my soul, my thoughts
Seeing the flash before me
The images of all those brothers and sisters that I loved
The blood flowing from the holes
My wrists, my ankles, my ears, my nose
My eyes blue as the sky and ocean
My body getting cold, pale, rottenly forgotten
I’m no longer significant
I’m just a shadow caster now
On mountain tops
I’ll be reunion warmth
I’m no longer significant
I’m bleeding now
I’m nothing
I’m your love
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.20.09:14:13@296NYC
Apt. #5
It was a hot summer night
My window was wide open
I heard the people fucking in the apartment above me
Apartment Number Five
I heard them panting
The bed moving and banging
I heard the woman moaning
Short and lengthy little silent screams
I heard the jolts and the pleasures
Through the New York City screen window
I heard him fuck her through the walls and ceilings
Hard pounding at times
I got so turned on
Hearing them fuck
I brought out my collection of porn magazines
I spread them all out
A territory, a shrine of porn
All around lace, leather, and naked nice
I still heard the fucking in Apt. #5
I stroked my own cock
As I heard them fuck
Matching the rhythm
Hearing their moans and penetrations
Wet and hard
Over and over
I penetrated my own clenched fist
And when she orgasmed with an “Ouch”
I came all over myself
My fingers
With hot, sticky, white, flowing cum
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.15.01:00:00 @ 296 NYC
Top Ten Reasons Not To Kill Yourself
1) Eyes
2) They love you
3) She loves you
4) He loves you
5) Someone has a job to do
6) Smiles should not be forgotten so easily
7) Cookies
8) The scent always remembered
9) You inspire others
10) An artist is not there to record your last moment
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.06.02.04:11:02@296NYC
Love (Version #08)
Love is a lie
Invented by Webster
And make believe poets
And disease
When no longer you want
You take the train
To Never
And when Never arrives
That’s when you cry in
Your lasting sleep
And fade in to
Everyone’s lost
Memory
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.30.00:00:00@OBNC/NYC
Closed
I’m sad
Broken
Lost
I don’t know what to do
Say
Where to go
Or if I should hide
I’m cold
Naked
Silent
I will not pretend
I will not write
I will not call
I’m empty
Alone
Dead
I will no longer hold
Cherish
Or share
Smile
Hug
Or open up
I thought I could be the best me
I didn’t know that the best me
Could destroy and hurt so much
Something so beautiful
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.29.18:02:00@3097GHWDC
Bitch
She’s my bitch
my honor
my mother fucker
why am I forced to lover her
i don’t even know her
Who she is or where she came from
i don’t know her true history
As I become the alcoholic I’ve always dreamed of becoming
Get me my scotch glass
That bitch
That fucker
Why do you need it
You’ll just be in pain anyway
And you’ll just eat the sand from which she grows
No please or sorry or children’s disease
No ammunition of romantic love for me
No words of wisdom
Or thank you for my art
Fuck you
go to Hell
see you on the other side of God
Like me now?
She didn’t whisper in my ear
didn’t even hold my hand at the shot-put zoo
didn’t even envelope a thought
I love you – the same.
She followed me up to the sky
Slowly I dripped a delivery
One time quicker than last
Nothing left, Nothing to do
She’s my bitch
a conquer
an underdeveloped nightmare
A picture perfect nothingness
A beauty for results
A bad ass
A smooth-over turn table
A crybaby
A silent asshole
She was my dick
My hole
My other
A dust
A tear
A bitten lip
A rose
Now
I can die
In peace
Leave me alone.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.26.13:23:18 @ PH17OBNC
Not Your Fuckin
Not your fuckin world record
Or turn at a hand job
Not your elbow at the table
Or icing on the cake
Not your fuckin hunger
Or food chain blues
Not your half-moon scent
Or Harley-Davidson lover’s good-bye
Not your fuckin problem
Or glass smashing dozen
Not your bed room outfit
Or wax melting smells
Not your fuckin gorgeous wetness
Or summertime romance
Not your babies I’m worried about
Or sucking back jolt
Not your fuckin gender bend
Or daisy duke flower dropper
Not your Hollywood star
Or mothers lost hope
Not your fuckin lover’s completion
Or ballad love harmony
Not your dreaming sensation
Or connected counterfeit
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.24.18:26:00@PH17OBNC
Ladies and Gentleman
Ladies and Gentleman
Tell me your disease
Share your pain with me
Let me comfort your horrors
Feel the hearts ache
And our veins boil
Hear the echoes of lost children
And the silence of the dead
See the dark Styx
And insides of my honor
Smell the stench of burning flesh
And used gun powder
Touch the rotten tiny bodies
And use them as old-age diapers
Spit on the graves
Of disgusted
Wasted
And
Bitched
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.21.17:49:40 @ PH17 Outer Banks NC
Red
I can’t stop now
Ocean waves are breaking
Wild horses are breathtaking
I can only follow you
Into the sky of heaven
I can make a giant leap
But nothing without a holding hand
Inside and out
Today I think about you
And your red hue
Footsteps left in the sand
Someday a return passage
A thought in the salt wind
And a shared glance from yesterday
The sound of the ocean
Calms my heart
Puts me in that place
Deep down inside
In the deepness
Where blue becomes white
And red becomes autumn peach
And pink or blue can be all and warm
I can’t stop now
Someone told me
You were beautiful
But it wasn’t me
I live for today
And don’t want to hurt you tomorrow.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.21.15:26:09 @ PH17 Outer Banks NC
ART is for BLACK PEOPLE
Art is for Black People
Because they don’t have to change
They don’t have to put on colored clothing
To fit in
Be hip
And go
Art is for Black People
Because they can be themselves
And still be real
And still be at the place to be
Art is for Black People
Because
All artists commit suicide daily
And
All artists are forced
To have openings that reveal chaotic hypnotism
Art is for Black People
In memory of Bob Thompson
And the hand modeler
© 2000 David Greg Harth
99.05.14.18:00:00@O’Hare, Chicago
00.05.11.17:42:33@296 New York City
Opa
David,
Its Three-Thirty in the morning
And I have to talk to Marshall
They’re killing me here
I’m losing the use of my hands
I have to get out of here
You have to get me out of here
Please
Tell Marshall to get me out of here
Please
Thursday Three-Twenty-Five AM
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.11.03:25:00@296NYC
00.05.11.09:01:25@296NYC
Love (Version #07)
What was I supposed to do?
Deny him the only right and last wish he had?
And on that 4th day of May
My grandfather asked me to deliver him a gun
And in that brown paper bag
I delivered
First I had to discharge him from the Hospital
Take his belongings and pack them up, folded
We both outreached for each other, almost constantly
And took a car service for a few blocks north
His questions ran through my head
His eyes poetic and his smile warm
His leg numb and thumbs caressing my own
His fungus-finger nails hovering and blessing my own
His tears breaking the cracks in his old skin
His white hair trimmed by his own sword
His tea-stained manufactured teeth in place
His light-blue cotton shirt fully buttoned
He did not want to suffer
He did not want her to be alone
He did not want me to give
He did not want to be bought
He only wanted us to do the “right thing”
He only wanted us to do from the heart
He never understood the depth of the knowledge which resides in our hearts
He never knew the person who made me happy
All he wanted was to die in her arms
For he and the love of his life, to die together
And that is what he achieved
But now what do I do
Alone, in a silent, aged,
moth-ball smelling apartment
on 218th St?
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.05.04.15:42:56@1515NYC
00.05.05.03:33:40@296NYC
Dream Disease
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
Warhol
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.27.03:11:09 @ 296 NYC
Found Incest
I was 16 and Fred was 14. We lived on my grandparent’s farm in
California. We had skinny dipped for about a week when one afternoon
we started fooling around in the water. I grabbed his dick and it
got hard.
Good for you, Betty! Did you make love in the water? Other experiences
during that special summer? It took my cousin and I awhile to get
to that point-kissing, exploring, mutual masturbation, etc.-until
we finally made love one afternoon in my bedroom. After that, we
tried to get together as often as possible.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.04.23.22:39:10@296NYC