No More Babies For You
As I raised up
Got up from my seat
On my luxury airline cruiser
I walked up the narrow alley
Between the rows of sun-burnt travelers
Old folks with sorry ass peanuts and bearded women
Sunflower hats and greying eyeballs
Seeing the sun glare across the left wing into my iris
And on the right bolts of lightning flashing in my path
Igniting the flame of my actions
About to become real and in memory
I walked up to her
The flight attendant ahead
In front of the plane near the cock-pit
She stands there as if she awaits my pleasant surprise
She stands in her corporate uniform
I go straight to her
And slam my mother fuckin fist right in her
Deep into her ovaries
Below her chest
Right there
And in my devil language
In my yells of horror
And red glow of death, I yell,
“NO MORE FUCKIN BABIES FOR YOU!!”
Fearless and trembling in tension
Like a roaring animal full of disease and plague
I take my tough macho bad ass mother fuckin punching baby self
Back to my seat and enjoy my ride
Quietly
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.23.01:20:08@296NYC
99.12.02.22:09:45@296NYC
Found Days
Life is just a show
An assortment of catalogs
And told commercials
We are assembled and manufactured
And look into our lovers’ eyes
Love is created by corporate stands
Bookmark sayings and hallmark greetings
The episode I miss most
And desire the most
Is the never ending until next week to be continued one
These are the days
Where I remember those who adjusted
And those who affected me
Have become infected
With HIV
I remember deeply
Their smiles, their courage, their touch
I remember their words, their power, their warmth
I’ll never forget, and I’ll always pass on
Their true love
Love can’t be bought or taught
Love can only be experienced
And those who share will continue
And all I can do is smile
And think of you
Life is just a show
These are the days
I’ll never forget the sweet bananas
Your bleeding gums
And your crooked smile
The mint white sheets
And eager looks toward the Day
What you have found in me
And what I have found in you
The laughter
Looking out windows of rain
You shared your warmth with myself and others
I can only grasp at the memories
And shed salt tears in your name
And forget about being captured
I cry
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.26.23:23:26@296NYC
Pornography
Unforgettable
Drive-By-Shooting
Dr Dre, Ice Cube, Chuck D
Plastic Hollywood Blonde
Revised And Updated Edition
Thumping Pumping Bass
The Tunnel, The Limelight, The Roxy
Madonna, Michael Jackson, George Michael
Gay Man Mel
New York City, Las Vegas, Amsterdam
Germans, Dutch, Americans
Greek, English, Freeze
Split, Splat, Spew
Hard Rock Cafe
Purple Dinosaurs And Teletubbies
Larry Flynt And Al Goldstein
Screw, Hush, Lush
Hustler, Pusher, Pushy
Beat, Feet, Meat
Candle, Fondle, Fun
Friend, Frown, Fresh
Nipple, Dipple, Dapple
Splatter, Patter, Poo
Sugar, Diaper, Doo
Squeeze, Loose, Tease
Fantasy, Hungary, Smoothie
Worshipper, Mama, Daddy, Blue
Get Down, Revolve, Suck
Luck, Lick, Bick
Dick, Sick, Sheek
Fuck, Buck, Struck
Cum, Came, Cumming
Cummed, Called, Kept
Cream, Crumb, Crawl
Pornography
Porno
Porn
Slut, Smut, Smell
Sweep, Sweat, Swift
Shine, Shrine, Scene
Pills, Thrills, Dildos
Bert And Ernie
Jacoby And Meyers
Heckle And Jeckle
Tom And Jerry
Time And Tale
Debbie Does Dallas
I Did The Goat
One Million Dollars
Rich Man Folk, Fuck, Free
Pornographic
Photographic
Artistgraphic
Artographic
Harthographic
Piece
Pull
Plump
Spread
Pornography
Hot, How, Here
Hope, Hump, Dump
Deep, Dive, Dove
In, Out, About
Coca-Cola CEOs, Midnight Runners, Donald Trump Pumpers
Beat
Thump
Beat Thump
Pornography
Scared, Sacred, Scar
Sleep, Seep, Slept
Soup, Speak, Spoon
Pornography
Bit, Bitten, Bite
Ravish, Grasping, Around
Inside Thigh Forget
Let Loose
Let Go
Have Fun
Enjoy
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.23.24:29:37@296NYC
Shit Blood
It’s been 3 days
And 3 nights
For 3 days
And 3 nights
Ive had blood in my shit
Shit in my blood
Red blood shit
I’ve shitted my blood, red
Red shit
My shit had blood
And bled from my ass
As I shit, shit red
Blood shit
Red shit
For 3 days
And 3 nights
I’ve bled in my shit
From my red shit ass
Shit red
Blood shit
Don’t go up my ass
I don’t want to shit
Blood red shit
Shit
Red shit
From my ass
Blood drip
From my shit
Shit red
Red Shit
Blood red
Shit
From my red ass
Blood in my shit
Don’t shit up my ass
My shit was red
For 3 days
And 3 nights
I shit my blood
And red was my shit
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.16.16:27:30@1515NYC
Banana Republic
In my mailbox the other day,
I received an advertisement from Banana Republic.
It said:
Introducing
The Flagship Store at Rockefeller Center,
featuring accommodations, a person should be able to take
for granted, plus some very fancy gadgets:
A coat and bag check to free you for more noble pursuits.
Cell phone re-charging while you shop.
Store concierge. Whatever you need, someone will take care of it
within the limits of the law.
Complimentary delivery anywhere in Manhattan
(for purchases of $300 or more - through the end of 1999).
Palm Computing® connected organizer uploads of the store (and
other similarly fabulous places in Manhattan).
In other words, there may be more service than you can use at any
given moment, but don’t let that keep you from trying.
...
Now what I find amusing about this advertisement is statement number 3.
Let’s go over it again:
“Store concierge. Whatever you need, someone will take care of it
within the limits of the law.”
I have a question, actually, several, or, maybe they are propositions.
Would anyone here ask the store concierge to....
rob a bank?
murder someone?
rape someone?
bomb something?
hold up the store?
etc.
Now, why was this included on the advertisement?
Did lawyers suggest it from a fear of possible lawsuits?
Customers complaining that the concierge would not rob a bank with them?
I don’t know.
Advertising is weird. America is weird. I’m weird.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.16.02:15:40 @ 296 NYC
True Wishes
I was standing outside of Maximus in St. Petersburg Florida
Talking with a friend.
Up comes a man, I’ve only met once before
Months ago.
The man comes up and interrupts
He says to me,
“How is conceptual art working for you?”
I reply,
“I think everything works for me.”
He says to me,
“I think you should work on finding some talent.”
He walks away.
My friend and I look at each other, puzzled.
We knew that man had not seen my current show titled ‘Wishes.’
So, we continue in our puzzlement.
I go on living.
Strong, hungry and thirsty.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.14.18:20:15@FLT#1796
Intricate Ear
Her Intricate Ear
Delicate with surrounding beauty
She would listen closely and lean inwards
But never dig or dive deeper
She wanted me to display my love with words
My actions were not enough
Chasing after a dream
My imagination is torn
Knives are dug and twisted
Stabbed, as always, after opening up
Cried with warm shoulders
And a soft heart now hurt
Sometimes you feel like going away
For a long long time
To slip into the darkness
And fall like burning stars
Into the minds of all of those who have forgot
Sometimes you feel like slipping
Underneath the love
And discover the truth of love
Or the truth which lies within yourself
She listens with her Intricate Ear
Peach fuzz Ill hug and embrace
Ill cherish forever
And never forget
Now the fallen autumn leaves
Crunch beneath my footsteps
The wonderful scent rises up
Forcing me back to dreamland
I dream of her Intricate Ear
The wonders inside that dwell
And come out on occasion
In a glance or smile or spoken word
My dream will only fall
When the new ones come out
And the fresh leaves of spring
Introduce new music to my heart
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.10.03:17:00 @ 296 NYC
99.11.11.03:29:22 @ 296 NYC
99.11.12.03:00:31 @ 296 NYC
BB
B because I never knew one
B because I never was sleeping
B because I never got lost
B because I never fell in deep
B because it’s a combination
B because it’s a wild roar
B because it’s the sun in the West
B because it’s a reflection
B because I never twisted along
B because I always imagined and hoped
B because I believe
B because I saw her smile
B because it’s real
B because it’s together
B because it’s a portrait
B because it’s about the warmth
B because I never was wrapped
B because I never was washed
B because I never was written
B because I never was willed
BB is an equal, a spirit
A hunted hunter
BB is lost and found
A laughter of captures
BB is tonight, a song
A magnet from the future
A heaven, a self, a crying animal
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.05.03:48:12 @ 296 NYC
Kiss
Have you ever known anyone that you’ve wanted to kiss, and never gotten the chance to?
I have, Erich Bryan, Kurt Wullschelger, Nate Oborny (I kissed him, but then I was mean to him the next day, fear of rejection, I was so sure that he didn’t like me), Ryan Laurance, Klaus Sanford, Josh Hite (no I kissed him, I just wonder what a relationship with him would be like, I know it wouldn’t last but it might be fun for a while), my dentist, my current studio teacher (that’s against school rules),
Erik Meyer (now this one is WRONG because my besst friend has liked him for a long time, but she’s getting married now, so her loss)
When I was in the fifth grade I went to a school that was only 5th and 6th graders, and all of my friends wanted me to go out with Brad, so I agreed to it, but I didn’t really like him, I liked a 6th grader, Clint Bennet, he was a real loser, but I liked him, until he got on the bus one day with a black eye, (I still liked him a little, but I was a little scared of him) anyway, my friends asked Brad to go out with me, and he said some rude things, of which I don’t remember, must have blocked out of my memory, so, I haven’t thought much of that boy since.
But when I was a junior in high school I liked Andy Smith, and my teacher paired us up (she was a little crazy) we were going to do a video in Spanish, and there were 6 guys in the class and a lot of girls. Well, she paired us up and he yells “anyone but her please anyone but her” and there were some really nasty girls in my Spanish class, but now he’s fat and i wouldn’t ever go out with him, cause he is such a rude little ....
I guess the point is that I’m unlucky in love, but at least the guys who didn’t like me in the past are giving me a second look now.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.09.25.20:14:06 @ 296 New York City
99.11.05.03:05:26 @ 296 New York City
Blue Syrup
Flagella plasma
Vaseline
Jewel juice
K-Y Jelly
Fingers twisted
Stuck
White glue
Gelatin
Suck
Slipped
Slide
Soothe
Palm feeling rotation
Slippery
Sweat water
Sex song
Sticky syrup
Sorrow and tears
Semen smoke
Drag
Unbelievable high
Calling
Can’t
Dark skies and burning
Sensation
Salt
Pulp
Jelly fish
Mucous
Thirst
Sugar
Undress
Bitten tongue
Virgin Syrup
Blood
Sipped
Slip
Ghost
Rabbit
Rear
Slick
Slap
Stunk
Sunk
Supper
Sin in the green
Soap up the waist
Swim in the silence
Fear of the truth
Edible peeled skin
Hunted syrup
Eaten
Organism
Orgasm
French kiss
Bitten lips
Licked lips
Shut lips
Stolen
Fallen
Cum
Shaken
Shook
Pulse
Agony of the heart
Sleep in lonesome
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.11.03.02:02:00 @ 296 NYC
Give Up
I give up
I’m wasted
Exhausted
Extreme
I give up
There is nothing left
No sorrow or bare trees
No grounds to hunt on
No leftover space
Or corners to mold and form
I give up
Silently awakened
In the moist midnight air
Nobody to eat
And nobody to die
I give up
Stranger’s umbrella
A holocaust nickname
A king
I give up
Let me entertain you
And kiss you on the thigh
Let me swallow you
And kiss you on the cheek goodbye
I give up
It’s only natural
I’ve never seen it before
I’m tired today
Tomorrow is a new old day
I’m bringing in the welcome mat
I’m bringing in the traps
I give up
They wrapped me in gauze
And traveled me through time
Developed my horror
And fed my veins
I give up
It’s a back seat driver
And a live-in maid
A rainy holiday
Virgin flowers and settlements
By the brooks in the land
I give up
My eyes have bags
I’m a skeleton today
My ballad has gone home
I’m left with nothing in my hands
Your wet stringy hair clings to me
And my teeth still fall to the ground
I give up
My birds have died
The cash is done
I’m looking underneath the rabbit holes
And you left me starving
I give up
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.10.19.17:54:03@1515 NYC
99.10.22.01:08:23@296 NYC
East to West
I was driving East to West
On Route 202 late Sunday evening
It was 10:30 at night
Cold and rainy out
With a warm settling fog
The fog was low
And covered the street
Crept over the trees hovering over
My pavement path
The ground slick with dew and drizzle
My fog lights did nothing
I would just drift the car down the road
Around the curves and bend
Forming to the fog’s tunnel
Then out of nowhere
And too late to stop
A man appeared in the middle of the road
A shadowed silhouette
From beneath the tree-covered road path
He stood still
I could not make out his eyes nor face
Too late to stop
I attempted to swerve
The car slipped and slid
Straight into the man
I hit
I waited around
For the police to arrive
I went back to the precinct
And talked and questioned
Sweated my palms into the wooden arm chair
Untied my laces and tied again
They knew the conditions
And saw the skid marks
Impounded the car
And photographed the thick scene
Wrote me up and wrote me down
Phone calls here and there
As the rain still sunk down
The police let me go
But I’m due back there later this month
What will I do
And what will I say?
The fog stood in the way
But no chance for him that night
Perhaps none for me
To hit again
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.10.10.23:15:00 @ NJ->NYC
The Wall Street Journal
Coronary House
American Regulators
Think Wider
It’s GM Global
Introducing
Turn How
Well Will
I ©
Inflammation As
The Money
A Change
U.S. If
Senate A
A Introducing
Vote Death
Unlike Corporate
This The
Calvin Aetna
Trade Football
Datek’s Is
Technology The
Gambits The
Geocast Picture
AT&T This
Yahoo! To
I World
This This
Coke Quotations
Continued This
Continued This
Continued Quotations
Continued 52
Credit In
Continued Wednesday
European Dollar
Wednesday Hog
Composite Foreigners
Wednesday Name
Name Pimco
Introducing
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.10.07.17:12:43@1515 NYC
99.10.08.09:11:59@296 NYC
Run
Come, we have to clean the house. The television set is dusty and filthy and the flies are sipping at the spoiled milk. The milk carton unfolded on the kitchen sink. I smacked one fly by the mirror in the bathroom. We have to clean all those toothpaste marks on the chrome sink and spout and the K-Y Jelly stains on my bed sheets.
No, John, he never made it through puberty. He still goes to his shrine at home and masturbates to the playboy magazines and gives himself sugar disease. He is sad. No, John, you cannot go to the nurse.
Why must I peel away my skin and show you my cleverness or sadness or holiness or calmness or secrets or desires or falsifications or horrors? Why should I open the door and be a fool and dig you a hole in my garden?
I’ve got a ton of chores to do but haven’t been paid my allowance. Swimming in the water pool and bands from Australia play on the outdoor radio. I’m in shades, but not myself today. See my reflection in my glasses and smell the hot dogs and pure beef burgers on the grill. We sat on the bench with the peeling and chipped red paint. The old rain-soaked wood bearing through and sticking to my legs. The brook aside trickles underground to where our gang spray painted on the walls of the tunnel of love. That dog used to bark at us all the time and one time I ran and ran and my head bled and gushed my hands covered in burnt blood dry and thick. But now I’m afloat, adrift in chlorine feeling the heat, but not myself. Not today, maybe tomorrow, lets play catch, I’ve heard that tune, but not that tone now forever now always.
The photographs are lovely. Pornography. Every word, or association. Yes, I belong to the club. Did you see that comedian? He wouldn’t sign. No religion? And no war?
He drove us to see Egg Bert in his old dark green Nova. She with her blond hair, I’ve got my blue eyes from her. I once locked the door and cried but Scooby Doo and my fruit roll-ups after school always soothed the sadness of Lalla and Jocelyn that never formed. She and I always sled together and had Dad build igloos for us. I never got to drive the Volvo or the orange Vega. I’ve seen the Volvo, now and again, it sounds like a television show. Perhaps that one that is all dusty and filthy.
One more, I turned around, tickled, I kicked his ass, I loved it from her. She can tickle me over and over and over again. We smiled, held, the mirror knew. Too bad I couldn’t fit or be or even draw or tell hot from cold I knew the yellow-eyed loved. Black and white view was the best, even climbed, never failed and always slept. I hope he dies in my arms and not yours, beast.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.09.23.02:28:39 @ 296 New York City
99.09.29.24:17:35 @ 296 New York City
Crush
crush oranges
crush lemons
crush bug
crush car
crush eyes
crush hush
crush push
crush banana pancakes
crush streets
crush my footprints
crush in the doorway
crush on the floor
crush in my pants
crush outdoors
crush in the snow
crush down below
crush last night
crush just right
crush ice
crush dump
crush memory
crush hand holding
crush eye glancing
crush cold wind
crush warm fire
crush hug
crush kitten
crush ropes
crush tears
crush bird
crush drink
crush fag
crush sweater
crush ache
crush tomorrow
crush music
crush writings
crush smile
crush flower
crush photographs
crushed.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.09.23.02:33:42 @ 296 New York City
99.09.25.20:12:41 @ 296 New York City
Black Eyes
Stare into my black eyes
And see nothing
But the distance between Heaven and Hell
Cycle through and travel
In the cold stone
Bloodless
Heartless
Concrete construction
Oval
Stare into my black eyes
Do I remind you of someone?
Or something?
Grab a hold
Watch my wings part and soar
Now I look upon you with fire behind me
And depths all around
Stare into my black eyes
Become a scared rat and run
Watch me step on your tail and make you suffer
Eat your mother’s feces on your child’s lap
And drown in your lover’s urine and spit
As the earth ignites in blue flame
Stare into my black eyes
Search for the emptiness
Pray to your believer
Take your garlic and cross and wooden stake
Your manuals and books and written words
Your theatre and paintings and tongues
Twist them around and carry them off
Stare into my black eyes
My eyes will bite at your heart
And steal your soul and spirit and faith
Hold my hand
As your eyes become black as mine
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.09.20.03:51:32 @ 296
New York City
Expensive Rolling
Hard headed
A toilet surface
Sweat thrown onto me
Like gravel and pebbles sticking to my back
Cold ears never hear what I have to say
Never listen
Only flood to the dimple in your chin
Wind of nakedness
Giving you my rights
Justice never served
You told me to phone you if it was illegal
I will see you Monday
Bald spitting head
Tough guy
In hospital shorts
Not right now?
I saw you on the cover of that magazine
No kidding
Surface & Wallpaper for Furniture
How is your girlfriend?
Good
Really?
Take off your leather pants
He wasn’t feeling well
Cereal wet-ones
A lawyer in a tie
I’ve broken my toe
Split ends
Now my eyes are open
Wont someone please help me?
They said he would be killed
Killer Mosquitos
Cab ride
And I breathe
I’m paying my bills now
Please leave me alone
Downtown
Freshness
Newspaper seeds and dirt
Leftover panties stained from last night
Unlocked keys and rubber bands
Full and complete
Sitars
Posted
Simon says
Chicken Geek
Circus Freak
Sugar Rush
Complete Blush
Pencil Stick
Lollipop Lick
Simon says
See you Jack
Out back
Forgotten
Squeezed
Brutal disease
Bag-piper
Bug in the mashed potatoes
Smothered
Drowned
Happy New Year
Happy Birth Day
Timing is perfect
Bob Dylan is on Bleecker Street
I’m not religious
Hash brown
Sausage
Eggs and Bacon strips
I’m huddled nude
In my fetal position
I lay still for minutes and minutes
You have punctured my life
You have not listened
Ouch
I’ll take a shower
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.09.18.08:22:37 @ 296