She came and went
I waited.
She came and went.
I waited.
Alone I am left.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.09.17.12:41:16@296NYC
Start The Break, Break The Start
Don’t start the break before you even started.
Don’t break the start before we even started.
Start before you break.
And break after you start.
But never break before you start.
So don’t break the start.
Instead, start after the break.
And don’t break the start.
You can’t start the break before you start.
So start before the break and after the break.
Break the start and start the break.
Start the break and break the start.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.08.21.16:41:44@205HudsonNYC
Stone
My heart, once ached, now stone.
My heart, once available, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My eyes, once matched yours, now stone.
My eyes, once opened bedside, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My hands, once held yours, now stone.
My hands, once cupped your breasts, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My soul, once enlightened by yours, now stone.
My soul, once shared yours, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My spirit, once beautified by yours, now stone.
My spirit, once raised by you, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My poetry, once inspired by you, now stone.
My poetry, once written for you, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My mind, once wrapped in yours, now stone.
My mind, once thought of you, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My life, once seen with you, now stone.
My life, once here to stay, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My laughter, once engaged with yours, now stone.
My laughter, once loud with smiles, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
My voice, once whispered in your ear, now stone.
My voice, once spoken words of love, now stone.
You have turned me to stone.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.07.31.02:20:32@205HudsonNYC
The Sweeper
I am the sweeper,
I’ve come to sweep you off your feet,
But you’ll have to let me.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.07.28.14:31:46@205HudsonNYC
Squids, Snails, and Scorpions
Three of you
One I pretended
One I pursued
One I punished
Slippery
Slinky
Sultry
But each of you,
Unique as you are
Can only go thus far
In a sphincter undone.
Undone.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.05.25.16:03:38@205HudsonNYC
Sarah and The Last Letter Of The Alphabet
Sarah is beautiful
and beautiful is Sarah.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.05.02.18:14:00@66W12NYC
said
said
Got a gun
Backed by a garden tool
said
Lost a son
With eyes of blue
said
Greeted by autumn
Synagogue leaves
said
I got ‘em
Down on his knees
said
Her love was lost
She struck a pose
said
He birthed at no cost
All the dead arose
said
Lived in Bethlehem
Where snakes spoke
said
Angels will condemn
Grown from bottomless smoke
said
Palms are bloody
Execute my last right
said
Lovers so needy
It is the word I now write
said
The end is near
Locusts from fire free
said
For you, I tear
The death of me
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.04.07.18:50:00@66W12StNYC
06.04.09.16:30:56@296NYC
Six Figures On Fixing What Can’t Be Fixed
So much for loving you.
I’m stuck and I can’t get out.
So, what do you do?
You Vaseline my cock,
and now,
I’m short a dime.
Hungry for more.
I’ve got nothing,
but black eyes.
Black eyes.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.02.15:24:33@205HudsonNYC
Sin
Was it a sin
That I walked the length of the brook to see your blue eyes?
Was it a sin
That I made love with you beneath the Sycamore?
Was it a sin
The way you made me melt into a defenseless child?
Was it a sin
The way you left my heart with no companion to love?
Was it a sin
That you spoke without listening?
Was it a sin
That you closed the door before it was even ajar?
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.29.17:44:00@296NYC
Stand
It’s hard to stand up,
I cannot stand up.
I’m down.
This weight is on top of me.
It blankets me.
Keeps me down.
I cannot stand up.
I’m trying to sand up.
But I am down.
And down I am.
With my might I try.
To stand tall and strong.
But I am down.
And down I am.
Stand I cannot.
No longer I stand.
I sink.
Sinking deeper.
In the depths of despair.
I’m down.
Can’t stand.
Stand I try.
But I am down.
Down in the earth.
A sunken rock.
Lost ship at sea.
Rotted down.
Succumbed to my infection.
No longer here.
No longer standing.
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.03.01.24:38:08@296NYC
Suffering
All around you is suffering.
People in Africa are dying of AIDS
They are dying of starvation.
Of simple procedures. Simple medications. Simply water.
They are suffering. They are dying in the streets.
And I ask,
I ask you,
What have you done?
© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.02.21.24:49:31@296NYC
Spoken Silence
May my open door accept death;
May my welcoming arms embrace you.
Come inside
From the cold wet snow.
Let me greet you
Where the staff of the rich bound the poor
When floods meet the sanctuaries of the divine.
May my soul not escape the serpent of death;
May my feet be always planted on soil of the mother.
Take everything
From the dignity of myself, the bloody boar.
Let me taste your decrepit sickle
Stretch the carefully honed blade
Across thy impeccable neck.
May you sharpen your hunt;
May you disengage the roots of my teeth.
Disembowel me
Carve loose the very insides which define me.
Let me be drained by your fury
Sever off thy tasting instrument
Fill my open passages with leeches.
May you lead the wrath upon me;
May you abduct my spirit forever.
Prevail life
Seize my wisdom.
Let me decompose to pure cypher
Lay in thy body excrements
Smolder in the acids of my entity.
May I become dead without one last cry.
May I profess the love I have lost,
For I am to die.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.09.04.03:46:07@296NYC
Sunday (Version #2)
I woke up Saturday morning.
And the Sunday Early Morning shows were on the
Television.
And it was Sunday and not Saturday.
Saturday was gone, and Saturday became Sunday.
I did not understand.
Had I slept through Saturday?
Had Saturday just disappeared?
Had I confused my days,
Confused my calendar?
Today is now Sunday
And Saturday is gone.
Saturday became Sunday
And Sunday I’ve become lost.
I woke up today,
Today was Sunday,
And not the day I thought,
Saturday.
The date was Sunday’s date.
The correct date of the month.
But what happened to Saturday?
Did we just skip it?
Am I in an alternative universe?
Where did it go?
Where did Saturday go?
Just last night it was Friday evening.
I woke up this morning.
I knew it was Saturday.
But I discovered,
That Saturday was Sunday.
And Saturday was gone.
Because today is Sunday.
And Sunday is now.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.08.28.12:12:46@296NYC
Spice My Dice
you’ve got ade
I need to get laid
turn your tongue over
I’ll be over you in a hover
take her from behind
something I surely wouldn’t mind
tell it like it is
flat out say the biz
she wants to fuck
he is in luck
a swallowing serpent inside
forever a penetrating glide
a heated Thursday
I’ll put you at bay
put her in restraints
we’ll be called saints
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.23.17:02:18@NYC
Spice
Knock at my door,
I’ll show you the floor.
Touch my wrist,
I’ll put your heart in a twist.
Kiss my lips,
I’ll jive your hips.
Meet in the night,
I will surely bite.
Bend the curve,
Work up the nerve.
Sheets are on the bed,
She might just give head.
The heat sinks in,
Time to make our sin.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.06.23.16:17:20@NYC
She is Dead
She is dead.
The bells are ringing.
The bagpipers are playing.
The mourners are coming.
The doves are flying.
The lovers are crying.
The souls are dying.
She is dead.
© 2005 David Greg Harth
05.02.16.12:28:59@296NYC
Some Essentials
1) Milk
2) Paper & Pencil
3) Musical Journey
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.11.06.01:30:00@6TrainAstorPlNYC
Singapore Sweden
Empty glove on the floor.
White latex, not powdered.
Thrown on the floor, inside out.
Left over, on the floor.
Not a trace of its previous history.
Nothing.
Box cars on the railroad tracks can be heard.
There is a window in the bathroom painted baby blue.
With a thin white linen curtain.
A slight breeze blows in and shifts the curtain from side to side.
The faucet still runs a steady stream.
Trickling through the rusty pipes beneath the porcelain.
Twisting and turning until it enters the tiled floor.
My mind tracks back and listens to the box cars once more.
Echoes of my mother calling my name are bounced against these walls.
A recently extinguished cigarette sits on the tub basin.
The tub is filled with various plastic containers.
Different sizes, different colors, different weights.
Nothing leads to the used empty latex glove thrown on the floor.
The radio in the bedroom plays a filthy static.
My ears stall and my eyes twitch.
The stale smell in the room overwhelms me as I leave the bathroom.
The bedspread is perfectly and evenly placed upon the bed.
It has a mustard shade and a starch feel, quite uncomfortable.
Not inviting.
The opera singer is still practicing her voice in the room next door.
An enchanting beautiful sound seeping through the walls.
Penetrating my movements and my heart.
I still hear the box cars roll down the track.
No hair to be found.
Not a trace of spit.
A single stain.
Not blood, not semen, not urine.
Loving death can’t be this easy.
But I’ve found the owner.
The owner of that empty used discarded white latex glove on the floor.
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.07.30.16:53:00@205Hudson10013NYC
(something)
not here,
found,
roaming in the
hallway.
found a fountain,
communicated to traffic signals,
sheets pulled up,
over himself.
in your eyes,
i found everything i’ve wanted to be
and much more
beyond your physical beauty.
hearing your voice,
i can’t stand no longer
in this world we call earth
falling apart without a dove.
i belly up at the end of the day,
figuring you’ll love me,
in silence
or heavy noise
travelled deep,
found those returned to me,
emptiness after the course
i’ll reach for you forever
© 2004 David Greg Harth
04.04.24.19:08:14@296NYC