taken
B01, taken, contracted
B02
B03, taken, extracted
B04
B05
B06
B07, painted, felt-up
B08
B09, revolted, taken
B10
B11, changed
B12, taken, changed, better
B13, taken, returned
B12
B14, misplaced
B15, (B), taken, new
B16, created, currently
B17, taken, because
B18
B19
B20
B21
B22
B23, me
B24
B25, taken, first, quarter, cents
B26
B27, I love you
B28
B29, taken, remind me later
B30
B31, exchanged, taken, taken
B32
B33, taken, possible
B34
B35
B36
B37
B38, 2nd
B39
B40, taken, long
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.12.26.23:02:38 @ 296 nyc
Two Little Children
Two little children
One boy, one girl
Brother and sister
Around age four
The little girl wears
a small denim blue dress
While the little boy is in
a special-forces uniform
They chase each other
running around
with screams of happiness and joy
Stopping at every corner
to explore their interests
and feed their curiosity
The little girl sings songs
and hums tunes
of cartoon shows
While the little boy
shoots his make-believe handguns
at imaginary enemies
Both in tune with each other
yet existing in external worlds
as a happy brother and sister
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.08.31.21:19:00 @ NYC Lincoln Tunnel
TC1920V
Your St. Sunshine hair
Your bright blue eyes
Wonders reflecting my own
Absorbing my own
Captivating and swallowing me up
Your peace of mind
And committed heart
To the artists and the young
Ignited by chance
At the heat of November
The rains drowning my sorrow
Thoughts of you - rapidly fly
Your exquisite bi-line
A pleasure call to those who defend
A human touch needed
Heart pounding for your uncommon desire
Quietness and calmness
Innocence revealed through years
Only your beauty is an image
Burned into my mind
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.06.30.08:33:00@NJ07430->NYC10036
Triple X Make-Believe & PDBs For a Day
A man in Omaha found silver
Crazies with methods of money making
Advertising breasts
Popping in and out of lining sidewalks
Women braless bouncing with loose fitting tops
Abortion killers and bus driver low skirters
Scat singers and Pop Culture
Lime green shirts and checkered pants
Fitting fine
Fine man
Elevator lifters
9th avenue buttons
7th
Park nectars
Brown captures
Devil keepers and stocking stuffers
White trash replicas
And grandma’s make-up
Transvestite hookers and game players
Fatality heat and laughing belt stranglers
Television, Radio, Communicating networks at net worth
I got the winning rub-off in my pocket
Grieving make-up old ladies
Parody at your feet
Industries of devil CEOS
Beauty queens along the park
Pretentious riders and fake believers
Gorgeous generations of generosity
People, People, People-
Listen to what they say.
Sadness
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.06.04.20:00:00@NYC
98.06.10.01:05:00@NJ
98.06.12.12:24:00@NJ
Tortured Crush
Stab me in the heart
Remind me of a memory
Walk with me to the park
Watch the swans go by
Hold my hand tight
And stare into my blue eyes
I bite my lip and taste my sorrow
Knowing that maybe
You don’t want the lust
I would give up everything
To touch you and feel you
To be drowned in your brown eyes
Falling from heaven into another heaven
Floating skies and flying doves in pairs
Swallowing up inside
See me, the one in front
See who I am
And don’t let me hide
Break the rules
And gather your thoughts
The crush gets deeper
With every move you make
Mysterious walks
And talks
A puncture in the back
I would burn my art
For the kiss at your lips
I would see no one on earth
For the warmth of your heart
I would sacrifice my thoughts daily
For your touch of every day
I would make every wish and dream come true
For the beauty gaze on your brown eyes
I would sacrifice my soul
For the sweetness of your lips
I would bleed forever
For you to survive in happiness
I would taste your tears
With my silent tongue
The crush kills me
It twists me
Like bent molten metal
Turns me upside down
Like Romeo and Juliet
It’s a Tortured Crush
A poisonous desire
I would let you inside
And see myself
My disease of emotions
I’ll be your sister and brother
You stripped me of my innocence
My virginity
And my belief
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.06.10.01:03:00@NJ07430
Traveler
I was a traveler today
Passing in front of everyone
Behind a car
It was a station wagon
Of maroon color
Two children were in the back
Back of that 4-runner vehicle
I saw them waving and yelling
Yelling at each other
A boy, a girl
Fighting humorously
I only saw them
Through the rain absorbed windshield
But oddly,
I could hear them
Hear them in my head
The sounds coming from behind me
The children’s laughter
And amusing little cries
And wonderful tearful sounds
Pleading, cracking, smiles
I was a traveler today
Followed the children
I heard them all
Laughing
Crying
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.12.30.04:30:00@NYCUSA
take her there
slivering
searching
beaming down
flying thru the night
smelling the way
peering thru the darkness
following the scent
the trail
the beauty
to the castle
the forest
the deep ocean
the midnight skies
the moonlight guides
the sweetness leads
the thighs open
take her there
to that place
the cliffs alongside
beachfront horror
death below
orgasm above
She is there, He is there
take her apart
bite at the neck
knife to the hand
He cuts his, and cuts hers
trickle blood
down her spine
way down low
and around again
finger the blood
around her every curve
ice blood
warm to touch
animal heat
thickness
a meat
slowly push
take the dripping finger
up to her thigh
glide inwards,
in her inner thigh
smell the horror
the taste of shadows
the taste of angels
devils too
in he pushes
his finger
over and over
with blood boiling
hot; around
inner walls
tear the inside
heal the outside
the mind
push
deeper
feel her need
give her a want
take her head
on her knee
push
the seas below
the danger surrounds
the cuffed
the bound
the broken
red, black, silver
make a night
nighttime true
She is there, He is there
take her there...
Now answer this,...
Who is she?
Who is he?
And where is there?
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.13.19:58:00@NYC
Talk this, Talk that
Security
Black ties
and gourmet dresses
diamond backs, running up their shoes
studs
diamond rings
diamond earrings
necklaces; galore
ostrich feathers
from lace to leather
pure Italian fabric
to the American blend
No Gucci,
a higher standard;
of living...
young, old, mostly mid, mid old
thin, physique
pretty frame; in a picture
fifty year old
woman
sheer dress
white ruffles above black
what’s this?
Her dried out nipple
nipples
seen
drive-thru
walk by
crowd
heat
all over
sipping
but no smoke
champagne
bubbled water
walk thru
no eats
figures
rubenesque
and beautifuls
french, asian, american too
men of high,
none of low
except me
and mine
and a few others
beautifuls:
satin, silk,
black
soft skin
white
older; bring out the breasts
younger; bring out the crime
blue eyes
red eyes
flash
1-2-3
blue eyes
green eyes
why isn’t my art here?
men in haircuts
tight
fitting suits
navy and midnight
glasses
pipes in the pocket
frizzy hair man
always there
always here
always
on the wall
spread open
wide for us
the viewer
the rich folk
the non-common folk
the irony of
of
high art/low art
no snobs
we did not talk
just drink
laughs
and talk
lots of talk
meeting
no security
surrounded
outdoor garden
a picasso?
a magritte?
a water baby
towers above
pollution outside those walls
or is it in these walls?
the artists hide
the contributors pay
who is the judge
not you
not I
but they
Why is it them
and not I
Why is there crap
on that bottom floor
Again
a mention goes out
a radio talk shout
beauties
americana clean
slender
and one with
a black
slender
steps
little ones
get out of my way
a smile
a rub
a portion,
un-done
a smile
a rub
a friendly hello
and an eyebrow liner
a stream down her leg,
talk this talk that
pornography on the walls
talk this
talk that
its pornography they want?
talk this buy that
its garbage they have
talk this bought that
its shit in their pockets;
death at their head
bring out the artists
and the irony
i do not get
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.10.10.01:20:00@505MAHWAH
Tell
The rivers of red, they flow down virgin thighs
The pulling of sheets, the clench of a fist
The tears run down, the beauty cheeks
The yells unheard, from deep inside the heart
The power struggle, sounds are muffled
The reality of him, he over she
It may be a response, but a force will blow
It may be a fight, but the winner will not pull
Scratch his back, nice and calmly
Scratch his back, dig deep inside
Scratch his eyes, pull his hair
No bitch- lets pull yours
Pull down those borders
Pull down those barriers
Intrude, not to produce
Intrude, not to love
Intrude.
Spread open
Wide open
Don’t be alarmed
You will not be harmed
Don’t be fake
You aren’t going to wake
Kneel down
Kiss it baby
The river flows
That virgin river
The pool; in red
The pool; in horror
It’s not going to hurt
It’s not going to be an answer
Don’t tell
I’m only mama’s boy
Don’t tell
I’m your friend
Don’t tell
I’m your lover
Don’t tell
Tell
For we have to stop that virgin river.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.05.05.13:39:00@31USQWNYC
THORNS
push them
bleed them
take it to utopia
an internal
a love of everlasting
give more
take more
i can see the light
but you stand in the shadow
i’m chained
you don’t let me see
you don’t let me in
i want it more and more
i can have it
i don’t know how to have it
i can be in it
i don’t know how to be in it
thorns
at my side
or at my wrists
around my head
spike in my heart
my tears roll down
for you
for you whom I do not know
thorns
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.03.02.00:00:00@31USQWNYC