A, 2001 - 05 David Harth A, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Again

It’s happened once again.

Woke up this morning.

Wasn’t me today.

Someone else, beyond that mirror.

Stared at myself.

Looked deeply into my blue eyes.

Hypnotized by the various shades and hues of blues cascading out of my pupil.

Bursting like a miniature universe of loss and uncertainty.

Followed the pattern my eyebrows made over them.

Noticed how they guarded my crucial art eye from the outskirts of the public eye.

Looked at every pore of my skin, on my nose cheeks and chin.

Followed the lines of my lips; the top one thinner than the bottom.

Looked carefully at my facial hair.

The reds, the deep browns, the blacks.

 

I stood in front of the mirror staring.

Not knowing how long it would last.

When I would wake up, once again, me, instead of him.

Hurt. No. But I apologize, I must go sleep.

I’ll be back tomorrow, perhaps.

 

 

© 2003 David Greg Harth

03.08.24.23:57:18@296NYC

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A, 2001 - 05 David Harth A, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Art Slave

I’m pulled around, fucked with

I’m not driven around in black cars

I’m not escorted by the runway models

I’m not high enough or in demand

I’m not shoved from occupation to occupation

I’m not understood, I don’t look to be understood

I’m not accepted, I’m not supported

 

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.10.30.24:44:00@296NYC

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A, 2001 - 05 David Harth A, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Amusement Ride

Is this some kind of fuckin amusement ride?

Are we here for fuckin entertainment?

 

I’ve written about this before,

and I feel like I must write again,

because it bothers me so incredibly much.

 

Why can’t people walk down the down escalator?

Why do they feel compelled to stand still and ride down the down escalator?

Are they really that fuckin lazy?

Do they really have to block me?

I don’t understand.

Before escalators there were stairs, and they had to walk.

Now they are too fuckin lazy to fuckin walk one flight of stairs?

 

It’s not a fuckin theme park!

There are no fuckin tropical birds to look at or corn fields to admire.

It’s a fuckin god damn escalator!

Fuckin walk down the fuckin thing!

 

This is driving me nuts!

Something has to be done about this!

Someone must stop the insanity!

 

Jesus!

I think I’m going to start pushing people down the escalator

then eventually just rid them from this planet.

Fuckin murder these stupid fuckers who can’t fuckin walk down the fuckin god damn fuckin down escalator!

 

 

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.08.02.11:32:49@1515NYC

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A, 2001 - 05 David Harth A, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Addiction

I’m addicted.

I’m addicted to a nameless woman.

A woman with no name.

 

I’m addicted.

An addict to her passion, her desire, her lust.

Her sensual curves. her bed pleasures.

Her sweaty sex and stimulated clitoris.

 

I’m incredibly addicted to her.

Ignited from within.

I burn, burn, burn.

 

I’m addicted.

I admit.

I’m addicted to a love slave.

I’m in love,

I’ll tell you once, and sell you the idea later.

Since you’ve been gone.

I’m back on my feet.

Never left, this state of grace.

Holy ground didn’t escape from beneath my feet.

I’m still close as ever, addicted.

Because I still lick my lips, as I look for you.

 

I’m addicted.

I’m addicted to a nameless woman.

A woman with no name.

 

 

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.06.05.17:42:00@1515NYC

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A, 2001 - 05 David Harth A, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Answer

I phoned you, but you didn’t answer.

You didn’t even bother to answer the phone.

 

I phoned you every hour on the hour,

yesterday.

 

You didn’t pick up

You just let it ring, ring, ring.

I must have awakened your neighbors

I must have made your sink overflow

I must have made the faucet,

 go

  drip,

   drip,

    drip.

 

The phone went

ring,

 ring,

  ring

 

I went to bed

I overslept

Put the pillow over my head

And got a bit wet

 

She’s getting married today

But you wouldn’t know

You don’t even care

You don’t give a shit

A rat’s ass

A New York City tail!

 

I phoned you yesterday

Over and over again

But you didn’t pick up

And you did not answer

You didn’t leave house

And you did not palm your thoughts

 

I phoned you all day

 you went to shop

I went to stone

 you went to flower

And I got nothing for the hol-iday

 

You came knocking at my door

 tap,

  tap,

   tap

 

Nothing there

Nobody home

Went fishing

Gone fishing

Out to lunch

Be back in five

 

You came knocking at my door

Thought I was not alone

But you only found a silly throne

A stupid piece of leftover

A fish of surprise

No one else, just a jar of fat

A jar of fat

 

I won’t go back today

I didn’t come here to go back

Don’t take me back to the countryside

I won’t go back to the westside

 

The phone rang

High pitched scream

You don’t know what I mean?

But you just swallow and pretend

 

I phoned you

All day yesterday

You didn’t have the guts

You didn’t even have the balls

You just let it go -

ring,

 ring,

  ring

Nobody home ....

 

 

 

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.11.21.02:47:19@296NYC

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A, 2001 - 05 David Harth A, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Avenue

I’ve walked that Avenue before

I’ve been there before

That same roadside

I’ve seen the same faces

I’ve felt the same pain

 

The moon is still the same

The sun rises every day

But I feel like walking

Walking next to Michael and Kurt

Walking next to Jean Michel and Sid

Walking next to Freddie and David

 

This Avenue isn’t the same anymore

No more happiness here

No more ghosts to hold onto

No more

 

This Avenue isn’t true anymore

The color doesn’t shine here

The people don’t gather and talk

The friends don’t phone or gasp

 

This Avenue is different

I’ve walked this Avenue before

Along empty beaches

Along empty sidewalks

Along American gasoline stations

Along London’s soho

 

The Avenue is blank

I can’t see it

It’s not even here

The Avenue is dark

No one to help

No one to aid

No one to look up too

No one to feed on

 

I tried to tell you something

But you wouldn’t listen

You wouldn’t even listen

You refused

You blocked me out

Your “All Ears” weren’t there

You were gone

You were far away

You were beyond the Avenue

 

The Avenue is gone

It lasted so long

But now it’s a dead end

A dead walk

A walk of death

 

I’m walking alone

On the Avenue

Maybe you’ll walk next to me

Or maybe I’ll walk alone

 

 

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.08.02.02:44:33 @ 296 NYC

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A, 2001 - 05 David Harth A, 2001 - 05 David Harth

Animal

I am. I’ll eat the living, the healthy, and the rich.

Even little children, the poor and the starving.

I eat through walls and through cities and the ground

I eat the smell of death and smell of courage

I eat the mothers and the little babies that make them want to live

Even the smallest bug and largest mammal

I eat it all

Because I am an animal!

 

 

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.02.14.10:41:33 @ 1515 NYC

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

Aleve

Send me a shit load

 

I will

 

You’re going to call the police on me

And get me arrested

 

 

 

© 2000 David Greg Harth

00.10.23.12:00:00@BSSMCA

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

Arlington, Va., July 10

Arrest made in Arlington shooting

Arlington, Va., July 10 - Arlington County police tell Me

they have a suspect in custody for the murder of a woman in the

popular groundbreaking neighborhood. They say that the suspect and

victim knew each other. Possibly a mother-child combo or happy meal.

 

POLICE SAY THE

shooting happened in the

2800 block of South

SicknoMore Street. Witnesses

say they heard several shots

fired at a Toyota Camry this

morning. They say the car

then rolled back down

SicknoMore Street, through

some woods and into a fence

and retaining wall at a town

house complex.

Arlington police

spokeswoman Kimberly Roberson says they’re looking for a man believed to

have gotten away in a two door speedster, either red or orange colored.

Roberson says they’re still trying to positively identify the woman, but

say she’s 50 and from Nowhere.

 

 

© 2000 David Greg Harth

00.07.10.22:10:43@296NYC

00.07.13.01:12:10@296NYC

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

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

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

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

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

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

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

American Ding Dong in a Cum Bush

I’ve got an American Ding Dong

Circumcised

Size up

Felt up

Felt Velvet

Heat up

Shut up

 

I’ve got a big long Ding Dong

American

Ancient

Roman

Ding-A-Ling

 

It’s been going in and out

These days

Of those summer bushes

Smelly corners

Around the turns

Drive bys

Inner thighs

Summer nights

Cum bushes

 

Sister Remembers

May Remembers

Cemetery Bends

School Days

Outside

Nest Inside

Snuzzle up

Down under

Muffled

American

My lips are behind

In the hiding

Round here

Sugar bee

Wrapped over my knee

Spank! Spank!

I owe you

One-Two-Three!!

 

American Ding Dong

In a Cum Bush

Cum here

Come here

Silly goose!

Coop Shoop Doop

Leap of faith

Doop Deep Dop

Crop Shop Mop

 

I’ve got an American Ding Dong

Standing tall like a flag pole

Just outside

The Cum Bush

On a summer night

Birdies chirping

No-Radio

Breeze blowing

Down the Noun

Down the Neck

 

American Ding Dong

In a Cum Bush

Bent over

Bee hive

Living to thrive

Jive to live

Burn

And squeeze

The juice

 

American Ding Dong

In a Cum Bush

 

 

© 2000 David Greg Harth

00.04.09.16:00:00@P.CollectionW.D.C.

00.04.10.14:51:11@1515NYC

00.04.11.01:22:23@296NYC

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

Angels

Angels in the dust storm

Riding on the wind

What will I hear from you

Now and then?

 

 

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.11.23.04:12:22@296NYC

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

Art Ghost

Here I come

Drifting in behind you

Above the art and around you

Surrounding

 

Now I’m underneath your feet

Behind the other viewers

Around the corner

 

I’m right here

Looking out at you

Hanging on the wall

Hear my voice

Here I am

 

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.09.05.21:30:42 @ 296 nyc

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

Alexander Filippou (An Artist’s Life)

 

I decided to go to the Post Office

Its only 430am

Had to get something in the mail

Right away then

 

I grabbed my coat

And ran outside

Slid my way

Across the icy snow

Down to Houston Street

 

I grabbed a cab

Around the corner

On Bowery

And slowly crept west

 

Alexander Filippou was my driver

For the evening just now

He feels tingles in his left arm

And a pain in his chest

 

No, not the doctor

He just needs rest

Alexander explains to me

Through our plastic barrier of exchange

 

We continue through the ice

To closed 6th Ave

And then to 8th

We pursue

 

Fuckin’ this and fuckin’ that

Alexander curses

I nodding my head

Making mental notes

 

Filippou pissed

He has to work hard

To pay the rent

But can’t get the Co-Op

Because the immigration is bothering him again

 

His mother and sister

Still remain behind

As the Ryder truck tailgates

Dangerously

They are in Russia

I’m sure cold too

 

We make our way

Through the tiny streets

To the avenue of 8th

Where we belt up North

 

Alexander tells me

How he was a trained fabricator

In his homeland of Russia

Supervising ten men at a time

 

He explains to me

The I-Beams of America

How strong they are

Buildings lasting for hundreds of years

 

Alexander wanted to open his own

In Brooklyn town

But they call for papers once again

So, he works fifteen, eighteen hour shifts

 

After the red and green lights

We arrive at 33rd street on 8th

My grand post office is open

Of course

24hours it is, indeed.

 

I wish my friend

Alexander

Have a goodnight

And give him 9 “I Am America” bills

 

Walking up the flights of icy white stairs

He goes off slowly

I’m sure with American dollars

Trying to make sense

 

The post office was usual

Security

Remotely tight

Because of Iraq over there

I do my business

And carry on with my art

 

I step down the stairs

And see the sight

I take some photos

to remember this night

 

I walk my way

Down 33rd and now up 7th ave

I want to see the center

Where it’s at

 

A few delis open

Selling produce and New York bagels

Of which I have none

Not even one

 

I get to the epicenter

Right near the NYPD

I’m in Times Square

To be an artist

 

I take my photos

Vertical and horizontal

My fingers now numb

In the coldness I share

 

Not to be too shy

I was on by

The porno shop

Even this too

Is not closed

On a night like this

 

Should I go in?

Just for one dance?

I’d like to see

That naked horror dance.

 

You know me well

I ventured inwards

And to my surprise

Only video tonight

 

Dollar booths with porn

With sounds of animals

Because the women who worked days

Are not here at this hour

 

Defeated in a way

I walk away

Down South on 6th Ave

Until I hit Broadway

 

I remember walking down

On sunny days

In the spring time

When it was warm

 

And that first walk

That I did many years ago

First exploring

The city, my city

I’m an artist

This is what I do

I observe everything

Welcome to my world

 

Running through the streets

A Bosnian effort

Of white delight

And tomorrow’s nightmare

 

I finally get to bed

Only to write this for you

It’s now 6:14am

Give me another hour

I’ll be up for twenty-four

Goodnight.

 

 

 

 

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.01.14.06:18:59 @ 296 NYC

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A, 1996 - 00 David Harth A, 1996 - 00 David Harth

Albino

I remember your albino hair

And gaze you gave me

Your over the shoulder shrugs

Filled of straps

 

You and your vanilla-cherry lips

I devour so much

The bites at your neck

And the nights shooting stars

 

We can puncture our veins together

And take the fake drug underneath the docks

By the cold gulf waters

As war rages on across seas

 

Let’s unzip and let go

Surrendering to the darkest times

Nightmares about losing teeth

And straddling around my waist; dentistry

 

Boxing fights, Mighty Joe Young and Family re-runs

It’s all old news to me, making me erect

For numerous albinos in the fields

Taking a cab, a dollar tip

 

Making it fair

And don’t believe, just a lie

Making it hot and squishy

For a little while ..

just a bit

 

Twiddle Dee - Twiddle Dum

Feeling woozy, I think I’ll get drunk like a bum

 

Albino throbbing

Hard for you

Poetry is dead

Art is dead

and so are you...

and so are you.....

 

 

 

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.11.16.02:56:36 @ 505NJ/(WS@NYC)

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