Twenty Two
22 of you
22 beauties
22 morals
22 filled
22 smiles
22 above
22 right here
22 couldn’t ask
22 didn’t know
22 one more time
22 tonight
22 month of may
22 meanings united
22 twenty two
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.05.23.18:13@1515NYC
Tenth Of May
On the Tenth Of May
My proceedings will come to a halt
I’ll be coming out
And magnifying my electricity I share with you all
I’ll take a bow and finish my acting
Be aware
On the Tenth Of May
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.02.17.16:59:47@1515NYC
Todd
I love you.
You are the greatest of human beings
You are music to the ears of doves
You are inspiration to live
You are the king of civilization
You are bright light at the darkest times
You are mighty, strong, wonderful
You are great, brave, real
You are my hero,
and I would do the same for you, any day.
But today, you did it for all of us,
A moment of silence, for you,
remains in my heart yearly.
Dedicated to Todd Beamer, a Human Hero
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.29.01:00:00@296NYC
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Waiting for the fuckin clock
The world will close
Nothing left
Tick Tock
I’m running out of time
I’m waiting for you
I don’t want you to hold my hand
Tick Tock
It’s fuckin late
I’m going to be late
It won’t be on time
Tick Tock
No more time
I missed it
Ran out of time
Tick Tock
You were late
I am gone
Nothing left
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.25.16:16:16 @ 1515 NYC
Two Hundred Thirty Eight
Swallow the numbers dialed
Swallow the bird’s chirp
Swallow the phrases the King has said
Swallow the instructions taught
Swallow the reflection of yourself
Swallow the company
Swallow the middle of the road
Swallow the darkness of the night
Swallow the work that has to be done
Swallow the washed sheets
Swallow the man and woman
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.23.02:20:39 @ 296 NYC
(There Is A) Puddle Of Liquid
In the center of the table
Cold
Reflecting an image
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.06.10.21:22:00@179Boston->NYC
Thinking of You
And in that rainfall
In those clouds that come by
Seeing the wind rip up my soul
Feeling the twirl in my hair
And biting my lip
I think of you
© 2001 David Greg Harth
00.05.15.15:08:20 @ NYC
01.05.22.03:04:57 @ NYC
Tooth Fighter of the Night
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I won’t let you down.
I’ll rise straight back up
From the dead
From the dirt in which I’m buried under.
I’d burn in hell because I’m the forgiver of greatest sins
I’d make love to you if you were a larva carcass
I’d kill your mother if only she was still alive
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I’ll purchase products by Sony and Mattel
I’ll purchase products by Fuji and Banana Republic
I’ll strengthen my weakness by feeding on your weak
I’ll strengthen my weakness by eating at your soul
Eating the flesh off your back
Licking your blood up off the floor
Your menstrual blood
Your baby blood
Your fuck blood
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I’ll sink under and come up again
I’ll keep coming back for more
You can’t beat me down
You can’t erase me
You can’t make me disappear
You can’t dissolve my image
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I’ll steal your teeth and make pretty necklace charms
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I’ll leave you stamped bills beneath your fluffy pillow
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I’ll fuck your daughter’s angel
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I won’t amend to please or surpass your dream
I won’t soothe or edit text-based imagery
I won’t use nicer words or be romantic
I won’t laugh or cry for your benefit
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night,
I’ll be a fighter
I’ll search and never die
I’ll always reach higher
I’ll always try again and again
I’ll survive
I’ll listen, look, learn, live and love
Because I’m the Tooth Fighter of the Night.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.12.05.01:03:14@296NYC
Tuna Fish
“Tuna Fish”
My father makes the best tuna fish (salad).
I always know, if the tuna fish I’m eating,
is made by my father or not. His tuna fish
has a unique taste. It’s not about added pepper
or celery or extra mayo. It’s just the taste,
or maybe it’s in the knowing. It’s not just
tuna fish. It’s tuna fish that has unseen
love inside.
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.10.11.16:10:51 @ 1515 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
Tale
Let me tell you a tale
He lied. His father didn’t tell him the truth.
He put a gun against his father’s head.
He threatened his father.
But he was strong.
And saw the fear in his father’s eyes.
Both live on
One in federal one in honor of what?
© 2000 David Greg Harth
00.02.29.18:08:30 @ New York City
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
Turning Insides
I love it
And I hate it
When things are in the flow
Like Yin & Yang
Do you know what I mean?
The other day, I was talking to a friend
About the full moon
The next night I look up, and the next, and just yesterday too,
The moon is full
In glory
The other day, I wrote a poem
And referred to Lord Of The Flies
And what do you know
Just the other day after that,
On the television I see
Lord Of The Flies
The other day, I listened to a song
I haven’t heard it in years
And then
I’m sitting in the diner to eat
And what do I hear?
That song
The other day, I was driving
Down along the Hudson
I wish I would hear this one song
Or at least a song from this band I know
And you know what happened?
The song I was thinking of
By the band I wanted
Just played on the radio
As I drove along
The other day, I admitted to myself
That I’m quite attracted to those New York City women
Who wear those pointed cow boy hats
It’s such a turn-on
It drives me crazy
Delicious
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.06.01.12:53:49 @ 296 w/PIP&59@287
Turnstile
Turnstile
It’s my style
Feel the cologne rubbing on my thigh
New wave hair-dos
I wanna be traveling at speed
Revolving
Passing through, going to the underground
Subway passageway
Delicious
Turnstile
Turnstyle
It’s not my way of life
But I’m committed with my hard work
And saving attitude
Time and Time and Time
Turnstile
To everything, Turn, Turn, Turn
Around
Rotate
Spin-Dry
Twister
Left foot my bed
Turnstile
1635-45
Numbered
Educated
Taught
Experienced
Made me deliver for you
The orange man knows
Turnstile
Number six downtown
Mr. Noisy
Mr. Tonight
Ms. Sexy
Ms. Mix
Turnstile
Dollar fifty
I’ll write a letter
My time is worth more than three minutes
Of an eighteen-minute session
Because I’ve just been used
Turnstile
Turn-around
Brush around
Blush
I blush
See the big vein pop in my forehead
Foreskin
Foresee
For come
Forth
Faith
Filth
God
Turnstile
It’s my swagger
A jack-o-lantern
A red ruby lipstick
Purple added
Strawberry
Red down there
Here
Turnstile
Imprinted
Stainless steal
Took and stole
Drum beat
Indians
And passion
Turnstile
On forever
Turning
Playing
Traveling
Walking-thru
Disease
Trapped
Turnstile
Bent
Forward
Death to the maids
The cross-dresser vacuum cleaners
Turnstile
I’m bleeding at my side
I took the gun from your bathroom
And now I hold it in front of your face
We hear sirens in the background
I drop to my knees
No
But No
I’m better than you
With a gun pointed at you
You taught me well
But I’m not you
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.05.18:04:12:49@296NYC
Tuesday & Wednesday
The sun sets and rises with you everyday
Your beauty is burnt into my memory bank
The bank that gets robbed but you are in the safe
Locked in forever
On 8th avenue way, all the men check me out
Look me up and down
Check out my package and cute face
I can get any one of them
Where are the women that ache my heart?
Where do they hide?
When do they want to ‘pick me up?’
Which avenue do they walk on?
Washington Square park is filled with participants
Useful ones that could have confronted camera artists
And celebrity stars I find on thirty four television stations
Including my nude self in central park
Hey, you, yes you -
Pretty one...
If I tell you to meet me in the park
Where the marble arch is
High noon on my grandmothers sabbath
Would you meet me there?
My heart is knotted
Tied and bolted
To platters passed around from blonde to brunette to red to black
From blue eyes to brown eyes to green eyes
and the grey mystery of my own
I’m coming to New York City
I was born here, there
Post office customers
I’m just a believer with bad credit
Certainty is now still in the concept of a book
That I will never read
So, I guess I don’t know the rules
Maybe you’ll teach, maybe you wont
Maybe I’ll just die in a rocking chair
It’s time to go
Thirst to produce has engulfed my mind
I’ll be inspired by you
Because until I meet you
I won’t be disappointed
Or shot down
Or in an orgasm of truth of my own disbelief
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.05.05.22:34:00 @ 296 NYC
99.05.06.03:04:23 @ 296 NYC
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.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.04.09.21:12:00 @ 296
99.04.10.02:28:00 @ 296
New York City
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.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.02.19.14:13:58 @ 1515 NYC
99.02.19.16:38:12 @ 1515 NYC
With inspirations from Jon Karl Holm
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?
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.02.15.03.20:26 @ 9th @ 72nd/57th/42nd/34th/23rd/14th/4th/296 NYC