David Harth 1999-04-13 David Harth 1999-04-13

One Week

On Sunday

I take you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art

We see van Gogh, Degas, and Turner

We get lost together in their masterpieces

Of strokes, dances and light

We surround ourselves in the art around us

To create our own

We explore each room while re-inventing ourselves

On Monday

After a candle-lit dinner

I take you to the Empire State Building

Right to the tippy-top

To view the world

Our New York City

That we conquered together

With shared secrets and passion

On the top in an embrace

We kiss to the stars above and the midnight lights below

On Tuesday

After the wine down your back

I cuddle you in my arms

As we shower together

Feeling silky wet

With suds pouring down

I wash the slippery inches of your body

From butt to thigh to breast to ear

On Wednesday

We skip work

To where the sun shines daily

And birds fly high

Where flowers bloom beneath

Central park is where we escape today

Frolic in the sun on the meadow

Being with you and exploring

Laying upon your lap, you in mine

Together we relax and wonder

On Thursday

The evening is ours

This night is full of sweetness

From the kisses on your lips to your navel

I lick the honey from your mouth and stomach

To strawberries of today

Following your precious eyes

I take the strawberry to every corner of your body

And nibble nibble tonight

On Friday

The warm day brought us to a gathering tight close

With ice in my hand

I glide down your body through your soul

Upon your every pore

From foot upwards on your leg and inner thigh

Above your pubic mound to your strong navel

Upward glance

Upon your breasts and now stiff nipples

Until the ice reaches your neck

The coldness giving you goosebumps all over

To your lips

Ice and now I kiss

And run my fingers through your hair

And down your back

On Saturday

Quiet with the actions

Too many to exist in our time

Ran around here and there

Shared an ice tea on the avenue

Remembering last night and the night before

Everlasting

I let the water fill up the tub

For you

I sprinkle flowers on the water’s edge and surface

Roses, daisies, tulips, sunflowers, carnations, daffodils, irises, lilies

And leaves of green

Cover your warm bath water

And now you can beautify the world

And take a hot bath in flowers

While I wash your back and your hair

And burn candles on the porcelain surroundings

Tonight

99.04.10.03:27:38 @ 296 NYC

99.04.13.01:32:33 @ 296 NYC

David Harth 1999-04-10 David Harth 1999-04-10

Tired Of Art

I’m tired of art

The lies

The pain

The bullshit

The corporations

The money

The realm

The animals

The courts

The circles

The rich

The poor

The heartbeats

The fakes

The abuse

The sexuality

The performance

I got a phone call

Every little thing is gonna be all right

Now that beauty is in my heart

Even though I realize I’m just dreaming

Perhaps just a wet dream

Or not, I remember grey-haired men

And black-bearded dogs crashing through my window panes

I’m just a piece in the board game

Just pay attention

Watch me grow

Fifteen minutes multiply

We’ll be together

And then I’ll forget you

I love your art

Smakin’ cereal

I’m tired of that art

The art

This art

Their art

Annoyed because you didn’t care

Expressed because who I am, I’m allowed to, I’m permitted

Rejuvenated because of the gallery, the museum, the show, the womyn

In my flame, my heart, my head, my art

Then like a tease in the wind

She comes on to me

Like a tease in the wind

And the night engulfs her, swallows her up

And rapes me of my own dreams

And I’m left with nothing

But my art and I hear Indian music playing

Drum beats

And I see Jesus Christ on the horizon

And I ask him for my forgiveness

For art

Everything for art they tell me

They spend

They erase and take and duplicate and rip-off and cherry-blossom and

virgins and thoughts and tough-guys and homeless and gorgeous and wanna-bes

and anti-Vs and record shops and rainy london gals and new york billies and

downtown billboards and san fran surfers and alaska wives and canadian skies

and concert-goers and builders of pages and destruction stories of my life

come and gone. I still smell her perfume on my wrist.

99.04.09.21:12:00 @ 296

99.04.10.02:28:00 @ 296

New York City

David Harth 1999-04-08 David Harth 1999-04-08

44

I adore you

I worship you

And I sleep in your dreams

Double

Full of life and color

You dance the night away

You go-go

You are a great wrapper

Sweet ebony kisses

Wishing you were purple from a 2-way street

Accepting blooms

West coast promises

If only you were purple from my town

Accepting cash

British accent on a rainy day

If only you were purple dancing in running water

Accepting smooth handful kisses

Bermuda sand spreaders

If only you were purple traveling with me

Accepting moonshine down your bare back

New York City kind of way

If only you were purple from last night’s dead beat

Accepting my eye wink on the park bench

You are a whirlwind

Squeezed tight

And tighter

99.03.16.17:50:00 @ 8AVE & 43RD ST

99.04.08.06:12:00 @ 296

David Harth 1999-03-29 David Harth 1999-03-29

Restless Pig

Sun-dried tomato

Seltzer wearer

Geek lover

Take it in the rear

Don’t give a little

Pressed up against my face

Heated warrior

Virginia cauliflower

Pea pod

And Santa Monica

I Am America

99.03.29.01:56:00 @ FLT#116

David Harth 1999-03-29 David Harth 1999-03-29

One Way Out

No one allowed in

Not even barbed wire fetishists

Or concrete expansions

No sexy blue-eyes from the West

Not even loving brothers of art

Or inspirational rebels of Sunday

No flexible IV drugs

Not even spinal taps, SPECT scans, and MRIs

Or doctors from Pennsylvania

No pop artists

Not even previous grocery baggers

Or today’s best interest

No women from the womb

Not even from authors of Mars

Or Vietnam writers and golden makers

No papas from hills and trees

Not even superb bombers

Or home-made cookie makers

No more salty tears

Not even a trace and scent

Or a remainder of my existence.

99.03.29.01:19:00 @ FLT#116

David Harth 1999-03-25 David Harth 1999-03-25

Price List

wedding dress: $8,000

health insurance: $350

new car: $27,395

gum surgery: $640

friendship: priceless

call-girl: $200

taxi: $8

train ticket: $58

postage stamp: $.33

phone call: $38

project: $500

one pair of blue jeans: $37

box of cereal: $5

vitamins: $12

airline ticket: $740

cliff house: $300,250,000

service provider: $25

on sale: 2 for 1, 95, 99

grievance: now

colored pencil: $2.95

postcard: $1

magazine: $7

unlimited fare metro card: $63

toll: $4

movie ticket: $9

star event: $125

rip-off for the possible: $850

tuxedo rental: $140

sadness: correct

realistic plastic pleasure: $54

concert ticket: $62

pay check: $500

owed: $12,000

art-write-off: $17

donation: $15

music: gabriel

collection estimate: $40,000

sensible guy: $5

base: over a million

rent: $1,600

modeling fee: $60

toy car: $.99

throat drops: $1.59

a piece of me: for rent

drug co-pay: $5

bottled water: $1.25

99.03.25.01:12:21@296 NYC

David Harth 1999-03-21 David Harth 1999-03-21

Good Samaritan Of New York

Let me introduce myself..

I’m the Good Samaritan of New York

Here is my story...

I walk around these filthy streets

Filled with dirty scum, pimps, hookers, low-lifes, dead beats, tourists,

great masturbators, Wall St yuppies, freaks, killers, rapists, cops, pigs,

kinkos fuckers, druggies, and myself.

I walk around, probably with a sign on my forehead saying,

“I’m a nice person, ask me for directions.”

Of course, people do all the time, maybe because of my smile, or my frown, I

don’t know.

But they ask me, so I tell them, like a song.

People get in my way, walk into me, bump into me.

They say ‘sorry,’

but damn it, I don’t give a shit - just get the hell out of my fuckin’ way!

I have to walk on the streets

Skipping the sidewalk as the tourists take up their time there

Like California beached whales

Sometimes I pass a homeless bum or drug addict stretched across the

sidewalk. Horizontally, blocking my way and intimidating others. Just the

other day it happened - So I yelled at the guy,

“Get The FUCK UP!,” He rolled over and drooled.

But you see, he’s different than the others.

Some bums are lying dead on the curb. Those, if you are a true New Yorker,

you just pass them.

And go on walking to your destination. Let the Times Square Business

Improvement Wanna-Be Cops deal with the dead. Not me, I have to go -

I passed a guy handing out cards to visit a go-go bar strip joint. He was

on the corner by the newspaper machines - looking odd, looking funny. Then

I realized, the mother fucker had his dick out and he was just pissing on

the street corner in broad busy working daylight!!! That god damn fucker!!!

So, I yelled at him as I passed by - “DON’T FUCKIN’ DO THAT!! – THERE’S A

BATHROOM FOR THAT!!”

I was fuckin furious, I’m tired of these assholes pissing all over my

sidewalk - damn it!!! He said something back to me, but my Walkman was on,

so, I didn’t hear the fucker. I should have just whacked him. So I told the

traffic patrol officer about the fucker who was publicly urinating - she

didn’t seem to give a crap - she told me to call the go-go bar and tell

them, then maybe the guy would get fired. Sure. Ticket your cars pig.

And those fucking pissers remind of those spitters. Damn it, if you have to

spit - spit at home or in a tissue or in the garbage can. And don’t fuckin

litter in my city fucker! - There’s a damn garbage can on every corner save

your trash - you live here fucker!

And what’s up with the Budweiser-drinking construction workers who mimic

Asian people who pass them by. Damn it, I should slice their racist throats!

And am I the only good Samaritan here? I throw my trash in the can, piss in

the toilet, spit in a napkin -

Also - how about this, there was a guy on the train, a homeless disturbed man.

I saw him standing in the subway doors next to a young lady sitting. And he

stood there in his own absorbed stench. A smelly fuck. Why - I know, you

ask... Let’s just say, his fly in his pants was open and in his soiled

underpants he praised his erection.

Underneath he went towards his one, you know - and thank goodness he didn’t!! -

But I was prepared - If that bum dare started to stroke away on my subway

car!!--

I would have gotten up and decked the fuckhead!! I just want you to know, I

was ready!

It’s happened before, numerous female friends suffering from the male pig

masturbating on subway cars....

The other day I passed a bum who asked me for change, I said, “No, sorry,

not tonight”

I then went into the deli next door and got myself a sandwich. Kindness

wrapped around me and i bought another sandwich, drink and chips, not for

me. On my way out down the block I gave the sandwich and goodies to the bum

and he smiled with thankful appreciation.

That’s a good bum.

A few weeks later I was uptown at a deli with a friend. We were eating

inside and I noticed a bum outside on the street, begging for change from

people in their cars. So, with the food I had bought for myself I went

outside to offer it to the homeless man. He denied. That fucker! He wanted

dimes and pennies for alcohol and drugs! Damn it! You try to help the

helpless fucks and it’s just not worth my time!!

and what about this, let me tell you...

Here in New York City, people die. They die because butt fucks in cars don’t

let the fire engines and ambulances through. It’s horrible. So, what do I do?

While others sit with their thumbs up their ass?

When a fire engine has to get through traffic, and beeping and screaming

and blowing its horn, and the moron New Jersey fucks and others block the

road and are deaf to the upcoming death in their cars- I stop the oncoming

traffic. Yes, I do - really. I jump out into the avenue, spread out my arms

and stop traffic, sure, some cars and taxis and trucks try to race thru and

run me over, but I stand my ground, and smack the sides of cars that race by me

and finally, I stop traffic. Because if i don’t do it,

no one will, and if no one does, then the stranger across town

dies because of the inconsiderate fucks here on the road.

I save lives every day, do you?

So, I’m The Good Samaritan of New York.

And that is my story.

99.03.12.17:05:37 @ 1515 New York City

99.03.17.23:24:15 @ 296 New York City

99.03.21.16:32:18 @ 1515 New York City

All Contents are TRUE

David Harth 1999-03-12 David Harth 1999-03-12

Untitled (With Her)

You put me to rest

And you left me in shame

You ask me if it’s getting better

No, it’s not.

I listen to you ringing in my ears

But I don’t do the things you tell me too

I stand to be a rebel and I’m not sure why

What cause what for

Walking great white ways

And reaching my goals

Still, I cry in the middle of the night

Waking up in red nightmares of inappropriate behavior

Inhaling smoking juveniles

And taking temperature-less showers

Day room blues and January air

I’m eating sweet bananas now

You put me to rest

And I left without shame

Seeing you go under

In the hot sunshine

Listening to angels

Writing eulogies

Should have hugged more

Wrote more visited more

Instead, now all is gone

I didn’t even know you

My art hangs on your walls

And new people are lovin’ it

You put me to rest

Now you are in shame

Because you refused to listen

Or accept and spend

You abused what we had and who we were

And never said please or sorry or thankyou

Now you die alone in your own misery

Not having myself or anyone to hold

It’s just you

And me baby

The death parted us

And nothing is left

Sleeping alone

Now these days

It gets colder

And I go to the art fair at Washington Square

I visit Fredrick Douglass Blvd

To get a gun to blow my brains on the floor

Friends tell me how to position the gun

Correctly

Friends lay asleep and wish it was them

Forever

I feed the pigeons

And rise and fall

Because this is my life

And she is ashamed.

99.03.09.15:11:00@ 1515 NYC

99.03.12.13:17:00@ 1515 NYC

David Harth 1999-03-01 David Harth 1999-03-01

Skip The Smokey Ones

My hair was filled with smoke

Girls’ tits were popping out of tight shirts

Guy bartenders went topless

Feeding hungry boys

Down with tubing devices

Filled with beer

Blue shirt boy

Guzzles down beer

As OPP plays and the Beastie ones too

He drinks it all

And seconds later

He vomits his defeat onto the floor before him

And the bar that fed him

The pipe above smokey land

And the wall

Both covered in ladies’ bras

White, Green, Red, Pink, and Black

I see her across the room

Out of place

She stood

Beautiful, exquisite, wondered why she was here?

Or there?

Or why not here?

The college boys dressed the same

In their flannel shirts

And baseball caps

Working out to impress their mother’s fantasy

Not showing real paths

To women’s hearts

But only decoys of make believe

My hair

My jacket

My shirt

Still stink of their nicotine

And their lies

I approached for a change

Told her what I thought

The bar became quiet

In the loud dark atmosphere

Looking

We kissed

Intensely we exchanged

Our tongues

Intertwine

Uptown New York City

Grasping her young body

She holding mine

Beer on the floor

Hearts kept inside

We left to go elsewhere

To walk

We left the cover shop

The Identity crisis and identifiers

We walked away from it all

And entered the realm

Of neglect

Moses is homeless

With a neon Mets winter cap

New Reebok sneakers and squeaky clean hair

Makes the dreadlocks thicker and the rabbi’s leg hurt

The faggots are homophobic in this car

They aren’t letting go

She kissed me on the lips

The beauty left me there

Masturbating in the car alone

To the image of a magazine

I bought long ago

At the ripe age of thirteen

Thirteen car seats

And all I have left

Is my Eggbert

College boys

College girls

I missed it

I skipped it

To ride with you

And you left me

You bailed

You blew me

You wished me

And now you are gone

99.02.28.01:15:19 @ Downtown 6 NYC

99.03.01.02:56:12 @ 296 NYC

David Harth 1999-02-23 David Harth 1999-02-23

Blue-Eyed Lost One

If I told you about your blue eyes

How they make the red dirt earth

crumble beneath my feet

And change the courses of mighty rivers

through our fields

How they start fire

on our great powerful sun

Or reveal night-flies

in the dark shadows

How they create whispers

in my aged worked palms

Wanting to cover your ears

from howling wolves from the west

If I told you about your blue eyes

How they capture me

with endless potion song and dream birds

And invade my thoughts

during the gathering hours

How they make scattering wide floods

travel to our salty sea

Or make me reborn

to my child innocence

How they illuminate those forgotten

above your bosom

Making roses blossom

at your beautiful gaze

If I told you about your blue eyes

How they nourish

the bushes and smokey signals

And make our mother nature

become jealous

How they fight for each other

on the buffalo land

Or make strong eagles soar

in the tinted blue sky

How they make the weeping trees

full of laughter

Longing for tears to soak

in the pattern of your deep black robe

If I told you to meet me

Out beside the great white oak in the corn field

If I held your soft forgiven hand

And took on a silent idea

To go where I have not gone before

Would your blues eyes care and be spoken of

To join me with drink and fruit

For a fire burning feast and deep drum beat

For two spirits

Tonight, in the silence?

99.02.23.02:17:38 @ 296 nyc

David Harth 1999-02-19 David Harth 1999-02-19

Tired Of The News

I’m tired of the wars that go on

The ones that the politicians create

And the ones that the political bullshitters avoid and put aside.

I’m tired of the famine the disease and the disgusted

People of authority,

Not on their knees

But on their fake oak formica-covered pedestals!

I’m tired of that.

It’s time to change

To wage a war

A revolution

I’m tired that an aritst is judged and can’t have a curly moustache

Or decked in denim or black suede

I’m tired for Dublin and Sarajevo and South Africa

I’m tired of the rap of hatred

And the breed of creed

And terrible sloth of people’s minds

The news of the sick, the poor

The suffering that could be stopped

The billions on defense

While children bleed with moist blisters on their skin

And wake up the next morning

To the flies on their sister’s dead back

I’m tired of the snowfalls the rainfalls the sunny days

That never happen to those in prison

For making a statement

For saving Tibet

I’m tired for those who love me

And nurture me

Just go away

And be yourself

Find out who you are,

Then maybe I can love you

The news of political dicks

In intern mouths

Baby shitters

And Priests claiming children shows

Are gay because of the fuckin color purple

The news of Joey and Bobbit

And how stocks rise and fall

For ebay and amazon

Yet we don’t care about the forests

That people burn in South America

To build better luxury fuckin’ homes for Trump

As middle-aged white america

Gambles their savings away

Instead of investing

In the children of our future

The hope, the research, the medicine

I’m tired of ‘in god we trust’ on my earned money

Tears and injustice, is never heard by the wallet

Pain and agony for freedom, are never praised by suits and ties

White flags and definitions are never held and followed

I’m tired of the media news

About being homogenized, waltmartized, and terrorized

The hollywoods and sport thieves

Robbing fans and not contributing

To the ones lying dead to save their self

I’m tired of Amnesty being not a priority

While M-16s and F-16s are of top quality

Tired of the news brought to me

Through cellular, electronic and television waves

While hundreds and millions wait for airlifts of food

I’m tired of make-believes, the gay-bashing, the KKK

And the White powers, the racist beasts and Jerry Springer representing America

I’m tired of the news from Iraq and Kuwait and nothing about the

41 shots fired upon innocence in Harlem

The news of glory for fight

For travels of spent money

Dinero for diabolos

And 40oz bottles being sold in the hood

The news of child molestation

And musicians being censored with parental-warning labels

The artists not being funded and Bill Gates monopolizing

With Leonardo on tour

I’m tired of the news

Created by the evil of men and womyn

Of hangers in back alleys

White and black fountains

And abuse at the job

I’m tired of skull crackings and rapists

Serial killers and unprofessionals

Of those who do not respect

And the us for raping Native Americans

Of their home and culture

I’m tired

Of those who do not dream

I’m tired of the news.

I can’t believe the news.

99.02.19.14:13:58 @ 1515 NYC

99.02.19.16:38:12 @ 1515 NYC

With inspirations from Jon Karl Holm

David Harth 1999-02-15 David Harth 1999-02-15

Taxi Cab Roses

1,873 UNUSUAL WEDDING RINGS

HERMAN ROTENBERG

How rude can they get

On my red heart Valentine’s day!?

Their business card advertisement

A little bit of nerve

In my taxi cab car

Dead roses line the seats

The floor

The love that turned to hatred

The love that left the open cab door

And the jazz that made it flow from

Cab driver to cab driver

Alone

Lost

Not knowing which way to go

To find the unusual ring

Where to cleanse thyself of the sins

I have committed today

Not realizing the ones, I did not admit

All year

All life

About the big one in Times Square

About the bar ones

The rented ones

The video-taped ones

My love is gone

My love that I had

Its dead as a rose

On this pouring rain

Valentine Card

Soaked with salty tears

And semen

Never afraid to cry

And forget the schools that taught so well

The Fall leaves

Of red, orange, brown, and rust

The bearded men

And a few dogs

It’s not about fertility

About the dead roses

In my taxi

My cab

My New York City

Where is Herman now?

Is he married?

Why not seventy-four?

99.02.15.03.20:26 @ 9th @ 72nd/57th/42nd/34th/23rd/14th/4th/296 NYC

David Harth 1999-02-14 David Harth 1999-02-14

Count The Tiles

I remember singing the song

Drinking the apple juice

And praying to God

I counted the tiles

And got yelled at for lookin reddish

Devilish under

I said I would fuck em’

And still will for those who do not

Deserve better days

I’ll go down with everyone together

Eating sweet bananas

In day trips

Along sidewalk homes

I’ll take rapid eye movements

And listen to them from Jesus

I’ll offer you a mint

A candy

And get in trouble for using

God-damn deodorant!

Shove your dots

Up your ass

I like dogs now

What do you think about that?

Inject me with the over-ness

And slip on your slip

Together we’ll straddle

The IV post

And we can then discover

How to take a normal one

Count the tiles

And sleep in the white

Because you are mine

And you have read

And I know the code

And you

You do not

99.02.14.19.20:00 @ 296NYC

David Harth 1999-02-14 David Harth 1999-02-14

Growing Beautiful

When your hair turns grey

And a silvery white

After the sweaty tears

You rolled down all those nights

I’ll still be with you

And after your fingernails grow older

Become numb to the coldness

And become thick and yellowish

I’ll still be at your side

When your back begins to turn

And you lean towards the earth in honor

Of the years you have walked

I’ll still be with you

As you take showers to baths

And then less frequently

As grandchildren have grown

And our own have moved on

I’ll still be at your side

While you roam around

Finding the medication

Or comforting yourself

In an oak rocking chair

I’ll still be with you

No matter how long it goes on

How many wonderful wrinkles your skin develops

Or how many times I visit you in the hospital

I’ll be there for you

I’ll still brush your hair nightly

And kiss you goodnight

And goodbye

I’ll sit with you and speak with you

And hug you good morning

I’ll help you up from the chair

Or up the stairs to the door

I’ll light candles for you

And still do the dishes as you rest

I’ll reach the high places

And make the holidays perfect

I’ll still gaze into your eyes

Just as if we were young again

For all the years

That I grow with you

I want you to know

I’ll be there for you

And I still

Will be there for you

Forever

99.02.14.19.11.55 @ 296 NYC

David Harth 1999-02-08 David Harth 1999-02-08

Hit Man

Kind of like book ends and access to lifeforms unknown by human kind.

It’s unexplained, left unemptied, shot at, and eaten to a terrible pulp.

And it could be like round, scrumptious firm breasts, or can we say tits?, that

are quite wonderfully squeezable to the touch. And they didn’t know that wild

animals were in the zoo, but I knew, I knew you far even better than you knew

yourself. Shark! Shark! Driving down 9th ave and 17th st for a boner I’ve

never met.

Do some research, babe, and have a ciggie, on me, captain jack!

99.02.08.17:42:20@NYC

David Harth 1999-02-07 David Harth 1999-02-07

People

People come & go

They share

Sometimes forget

But always remember

The kind & The evil

The pussy cats

& the various pound dogs

The crackling fire

Gay porn stars

And flaming art

The sorrows

& the pain

I won’t forget you

Until you make

The order

And until you do

I’ll be here

For you

But just don’t come

& go

Stay once in

A while...

99.02.07.23:13:58 @ 296 NYC

David Harth 1999-02-06 David Harth 1999-02-06

Untitled (Making Love)

Speaking in tongues

Devilish swirls

Around tender navels

Feeling your thigh

Up against mine

We mingle and twist

In the midnight mist

Feeling the groove

Of fresh air

Amplify the erotic

Art of touch

Stealing the kiss

From last night

99.02.06:01:23:00 @ Flannery’s 14th st NYC

David Harth 1999-02-05 David Harth 1999-02-05

Memory Song

We are the pea-NUTS

The mighty mighty pea-NUTS

Wherever we go-OHhh

People want to know-OHhh

Whooooo we are-R

Soooooo we tell them

We are the pea-NUTS

The mighty mighty pea-NUTS

Wherever we go-OHhh

People want to know-OHhh

Whooooo we are-R

Soooooo we tell them

We are the pea-NUTS

The mighty mighty pea-NUTS

Wherever we go-OHhh

People want to know-OHhh

Whooooo we are-R

Soooooo we tell them

99.02.05.03:16:16 @ 296 NYC

David Harth 1999-02-04 David Harth 1999-02-04

Him

Because you cry when you sing

And pour sweat down the guitar which you play

Because you hug and miss those who share

And sing with gloria in the flames of my eye

Because you understand and I compare Vox to you

And not you to Vox

Because you sculpt angels in front of us all

And back home in your own cathedral

Because you connect and share the joy

And possess a talent that exceeds most

Because passion is a name you know

And a policy you follow

Because you buy food for the homeless

And have patience for Jack Daniel’s and holy water

Because you bring all up on stage

And do not conform with society’s limits

Because your friends and wife have stood by

And you have keen interests in your followers

Because you bow down to those who you love

And respect yourself the same amount

Because from Nyack to New York City I knew you

And the glare in your eye highlights the crowd you draw

Because you have climbed with us

And not on top of us

Because you have held our hands together

And made peace in my heart; and theirs, nightly

Because you save many from the streets of sorrow

And committed to the journey of desire

Because you are not ashamed to change

And try the new

Because you kneel

And not charge

Because you appreciate and welcome

And stare down at the bullets of evil

Because you are who you are

And we thank you for sharing your beauty

99.01.24.24.00:00 @ Rock N’ Roll Cafe & 296 NYC

99.01.24.06.00:00 @ Rock N’ Roll Cafe & 296 NYC

99.01.25.24.44:00 @ Rock N’ Roll Cafe & 296 NYC

99.02.04.02.33:00 @ Rock N’ Roll Cafe & 296 NYC

David Harth 1999-01-14 David Harth 1999-01-14

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.

99.01.14.06:18:59 @ 296 NYC