Wind

Come harvest with me

Under our mighty sun

My blood is thicker for my love that passes

Thousands of times I have smoked

Weeping Red ends the sky

Oak Red makes sky greater

The strength of mountains can no longer hold me

The strength of currents can no longer carry me

Kneel down by the river

An eagle lands upon a rock

My heart is now in summer

And summer is my heart

Weeping Red makes good rope

Oak Red makes good boil

Leaves fall for long

Colored teas gathered

Winter winds blow in my face

Blistered hands burnt

Move Westward said Eagle God

Become named and never return

Come back a new son

Return as a mighty one

Come back a new daughter

Return as a blade of grass

Weeping Red now gone

Oak Red now gone

Drum beat played on hill

Drum beat played on ground

Men with cow carcass bellies

Blow to your burial

The wind leaves a trail

And the rain pours on your dead

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.06.26.04:21:18@296NYC

Wait Time

Wait Time Is Only

Four hours

10 minutes

3 1/2 hours

15 min.

2 hrs.

about 20 min.

7 hours

30 days

2 week period

ten days

about half an hour

Five hours

8 minutes

estimated time is 12 min.

9 hours

© 2000 David Greg Harth

00.10.03.11:42:00 @ World Trade Center NYC

Walk Away

After the rain wept

I could not even raise myself up

I could not stand

My entire body was shaking

My eyes looked down

Sad

Not knowing why

Questioning

The rain continued

Today it poured

Morning hours

A coolness swept over

Pushing the warmth away

Puzzled

And empty

I took to the streets

Walked alone

Questioning

My thoughts racing around

Constantly hungry

Trying to hold

The memory is past

My hands shiver with my breath

I can't believe it now

I don't want to go

You shut the door

And now I'm gone

The wet street beneath

Golden light reflects

A man at the door

Around the corner I turn

Questioning

Fog sets in

Surround my shivering body

My soul

My emptiness

My shadow you decline

Ignored

Forgot

Before the night falls to the sunrise

I go on walking

Away

With The Bible in hand

© 2000 David Greg Harth

2000.09.12.12:30:30@296NYC and 2000.09.27.04:02:03@296NYC

when the train goes by

and when the train goes by

it’s such a sad sound

(it’s such a sad thing)

© 2000 David Greg Harth

00.04.10.22:20:12@6TrainBleeckerStNYC

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

Wholesale Limited Edition

Limited Edition

Signed and Numbered

Special Series

Autographed

1 for 1

Make a buck

Prints

Limited Edition

One time only

Unique opportunity

Great cause

Super deal

Intense Art

Limited Edition

Please send check, money order, or cash

In the amount of $25.00 to:

David Greg Harth

PO BOX 7786

New York NY

10001

USA

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.09.02.02:24:07 @ 296

Wolf’s Flu

She asked me, “Would you like some more?”

I said “Yes please.”

Overhead, on the radio, I could hear what seemed to be the Talking Heads

We had a conversation, about the songs that related to every woman I dated

or was involved with. It’s weird, we both realized, ... it was a hot summer

night.

Am I right or wrong? My god, what have I done?

Nowadays it’s no more 12 cups of coffee with 4 sugar and 2 sweet n’ low per cup.

Now I take it black, strong, thick.

It was a conversation unrealistic. I only spoke to her once. When she was

in California and I was in New York. We’ve exchanged before but not like

this. It was just grand. I recall my High School English professor using

that word.

Today I put on a suit and tie and got myself a new job.

In a way it’s kind of horrible, I have to ‘dress up’ now when I goto work.

Some days are better than others.

And, If I want to be free, I’ll be free.

It’s in my head.

She rolled over, next to the ice cold glass of water.

She was in white, the drapes moved with the wind from the open window.

Far in the back we heard the rumble of a stock train going by.

This is where we were that day.

Pittsburgh

Later I met with Paul and Andy and Myself.

I wish I had some tongues with me.

One summer I would drive my car on errands for my gay boss.

I would drive up the New York State Thruway and get off.

That summer I listened to two songs over and over again, and one tape.

She made me a turkey sandwich; He knew something was up.

My grandmother, on my mother’s side, she would make this potted chicken

dish stew thing.

I, pretty much hated it. But I really did dig the potatoes and carrots in

the stew.

If I’m out in the sun too long, I get an awful sunburn.

Who wants to go walk on a nude beach?

I was walking home the other day, just after a thunderstorm.

The sky was so incredible. The sunset was just over the clouds, but hiding.

The sky was pink and the light reflected all over me and on the streets and

buildings and people and taxi cabs, gosh I wish I could replicate that

beauty ... in a painting or photograph... But It will have to last in my

head. As long as I can take it.

So, like I said, I’ll bring down the government walls.

I finished, and asked her for the check.

I told her “Have a good night.”

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.08.13.24:07:19 @ 296 New York City

Woman In Blue

The woman in blue

My Azul

From Argentina

Showing her belly button

Her smiling lips

Her beauty bending

Few words spoken

Glances from chairs

I wish I knew her name

I wish I knew her name

She sat just a few chairs away

Just before we exchanged questions and answers

She would look back at me

I would look at her

Glancing her up and down

Following her contour

Her bare feet

And black low cut pants

Up upon her waist and her tight piercing-blue top

The curves of her breasts to her neck

And her rose lips and great baby brown eyes

Imagined the love we could make

She was, a guess, about thirty-four or five

Beautiful from the Southern Sea

All we did for the rest of the evening

Was glance at each other

Not speaking a word

Only exchanging smiles of wonder and understanding

And appreciation for the photographic memories

Woman In Blue

I wish I got to know you

Your aging hands and palms and ringless heart

Woman In Blue

I might bump into you and grind away at what makes you tick

Through our connection of wires that brought us together

I’ll see you later

Hopefully at Two

Tonight, I’ll dream of Blue

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.08.09.24:12:12 @ 296

99.08.12.24:12:12 @ 296

99.08.12.23:19:38 @ 296

New York City

Without You

I saw the thorn twist in your side

And I was so revolted that there was a thorn in your thigh

I just had to lean over

And relieve myself of this morning’s breakfast

And I realized

I can live without you

And I can’t live with you

How can I go on with you if you have a damn thorn in your thigh?

Why don’t you go to the dermatologist and have that removed?

You gave yourself away and you still expect me to be with you?

That’s insane.

And then on top of that and your thorn in your thigh

You tied my hands up like a silly S&M director

I couldn’t win

You always lost

It was kind of like a tie, like my hands.

You thorny whore!

Go back for some more!

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.21.16:29:34@1515NYC

harth, being silly

Winter Footsteps

It’s impossible

That in the coldness

I feel separated

Yet hot

Feeling hot

The warmth transferred

By my quiet footsteps

I left in the snow

I trailed along

Thinking of her

And where we were

And how I got there

I penetrated my thoughts

To think about the spring

In this winter town

This complex winter

Song

Making angels in the snow

With her

Making with her

In the snow

In our nude

It’s about time

To go around

Sing with joy

Of new desire

I think it’s warm

The snow is melting

Uncovering me

Follow my footsteps

Where they lead

And where they have gone

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.12.27.24:52:03 @ 296 NYC

Would, Could, Should

I would have kissed your lips

   If I could

I would have explored your sensual navel

   If I could

I would have nibbled on your sexy ears

   If I could

I would have sucked on your nipples

   If I could

I would have shown you the beauty all around us

   If I could

I would have walked hours around the sights

   If I could

I would have shown you the midnight sunrise

   If I could

I would have devoured the passion

   If I could

I would have taken you down under

   If I could

I would have poured my soul into you

  If I could

I would have lit warm candles

  If I could

I would have been with you

  If I could

I would have held you

  If i could

Should I have?

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.12.06.19:40:00@ Hollywood Diner NJ

98.12.07.04:40:00@ Hollywood Diner NJ

Womyn

I know I’m a martyr

With huge concrete walls

Grid steel plates

And outward planks

I’m Lucifer

I bring you hell

Open up my mind

And look under my eyelids

What do you see, scurrying along?

Controlling my thoughts

Entering and exiting

My existence?

Lift me up

See all the womyn

Turning my gears

Using cement to tear down a wall

The chisel stays aside

The hammer stays aside

The womyn climb and fall

The men scale and break their necks

It’s a fort that cannot be told

A prison that I’m forever trapped in

Even though

I wish to dance every dance with you

Take my chains off

Watch my muscles be pulled by the womyn

I want to make (edited) with you

In the midnight sun

My head spins

Full of womyn

And artistry men

Fathers and ghosts

And long last brothers

Climbing water towers

Until I dive

Off

Crying alone

Beauty lives within

Secret lies

And plains for buffalos to roam

Burning inside

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.12.01.01:01:12@505 NJ

Washed Away

My girlfriend passed away

Just two years ago

To this very same day

As I stood there

It was just after dusk

About 8:30pm as I stood on the beach at Grape Bay

In the lighted darkness

I watched the moonshine ripple

On the waves that rolled

Upon the sandy shore in front of me

Slowly the waves washed away

The set of footprints

Left over by two lovers walking by

Behind me in the tropical bush

I heard the orchestra of tree frogs

Chanting songs of harmony

I stood there

Staring out into the ocean

Thinking about her

With a stick I found on the beach

I carved her name into the grainy sand

And with stick in hand, I stood

Forever at the gleaming full moon

And the light patterns it reflected

On the deep ocean darkness

Stars came out and clouds passed by

Determined to the end

Until the tide moved near

And the waves washed her name away

Sometimes I thought I could hear

Her name being called

By the chirping of the frogs

But all it was, was my memory

I stared at the calmness

The few waves which broke

On the sand

The few that rolled

I stared

I thought about

Walking straight into the moonlight

That was reflected

On the ocean’s surface

To surrender to my pain

And to be with her forever

As I would be welcomed by the sea

And finally

The waves came crawling

And washed her name away

I walked away

Into the darkness

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.08.06.23:32:00@Grape Bay Bermuda

Waiting

I’m waiting for the sun to burst

I’m waiting for the line to end

I’m waiting for the train

I’m waiting for her

For love

For she

I’m waiting for togetherness

Peace & Beauty

I’m waiting for the song to end

For my pain to halt

I’m waiting for art to show

On gallery walls

I’m waiting for the hunted

I’m waiting for my prey

I’m waiting for the food to cook

I’m waiting to bury my father with a puzzle

I’m waiting to kneel down in front

Holding hands

I’m waiting to caress her skin

To hold her hand

And lay upon her chest

I’m waiting for the sign

To Walk or Don’t Walk

I’m waiting for the rain

To pour and wash my tears away

I’m waiting to help the helpless

The sick, the dying, the dead

I’m waiting for the year

I’m waiting very long

I’m waiting for the optimization

I’m waiting for the tour

I’m waiting for the day

And for the tap

I’m waiting for the dream

And the memory

The shared time

And the first dinner

I’m waiting for the night

And the scent

I’m waiting for the sight

And the touch

I’m waiting forever

Until realism is defined

Until moments are defined

Until I am pinned

Into my corner of make-believe

And truth.

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.07.15.22:17:35@NJ07430

Wine

With you

Going down

Caressing your every curve

Bend

Tender

Soft skin

I slide

My soapy hands

Guiding them down

Your slender silky body

I remember your kindness

Your devotion

Your lust you shared

I remember our desire

Your heart

Your eyes

As you stand beside me

In our shower

With hot water dripping down

Our souls exchanging

Our hands rubbing

Feeling

I stand behind you

Grasping your breasts

Your stiff nipples

Kissing the back of your neck

Your warm neck

Sliding my fingers through your hair

Wetness all around

Suds between

I pour

The wine

Red wine down your back

In your hair

Candlelit shown

The wine pours down

Between your ass cheeks

And on my cock

Across your breasts

And down your stomach

In the depths of your cute navel

And further down

Deep inside

Your wet pussy lips

Inside your warmth

The sex we shall have

Water all around

Red wine shared

Passion explored

In our steamy shower

As my cock rubs up against your ass

A tingle between your legs

I kiss you from behind

And give you poetry with my hands

My touch

My thrust

I give

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.06.21.20:41:00@MahwahNJ

Waiting For Love

People tell me I shouldn’t look

That I should wait

That love will come to me

Let me tell you -

For I have waited

My patience is a daily vitamin

And a drug I deliver outwards

I wait all day

For the sunshine to set

Because I know the next day

I will wait no longer

I wake up each day

Thinking a lot

It hurts so much

That I handcuff my thoughts

To pully systems of rust and thorns

That I shoot myself daily

With pains of starving children

And abused and tortured

Souls from heaven

I wait

I do not seek

I wait for its arrival

I calmly sit

By lakes and skyscrapers

Upon breezes and fireflies

And upon decks and concourses

I wait.

I wait for a prophet

Or an angel

I wait for a sign

but never look.

All I can do

Is wait.

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.05.24.00:00:00@NJ07430

98.05.25.00:00:00@NJ07430

Who Am I?

I’m an artist.

I’m a lover.

I’m a giver.

I’m a looker.

I’m an absorber.

I’m a feeler

I’m a human.

I’m a devoted.

I’m a fan.

I’m obsessed.

I’m lively color.

I’m a smell.

I’m a healer.

I’m a taster.

I’m a listener.

I’m a musician.

I’m a painter.

I’m a writer.

I’m a believer.

I’m a thinker.

I’m a toucher.

I’m an exhibitionist.

I’m an installer.

I’m a maker.

I’m a flexer.

I’m a speeder.

I’m a disobeyer.

I’m a revolutionary.

I’m circular.

I’m medium.

I’m here.

I’m a lurker.

I’m a rotator.

I’m a typist.

I’m a letter.

I’m a character.

I’m an age.

I’m an actor.

I’m a filmmaker.

I’m an animal.

I’m sexy.

I’m a bomber.

I’m a shooter.

I’m thirsty.

I’m a drinker.

I’m an eater.

I’m a cannibal.

I’m violent.

I’m silent.

I’m sweet.

I’m kind.

I’m me.

I’m for you.

I’m all around.

I’m yesterday.

I’m available.

I’m someone’s child.

I’m someone’s lover.

I’m a learner.

I’m a teacher.

I’m you.

I’m them.

I’m for all.

I’m fucked.

I’m a city.

I’m a display.

I’m a show.

I’m pornography.

I’m photography.

I’m a helper.

I’m a runner.

I’m an exorcist.

I’m a priest.

I’m a leader.

I’m a player.

I’m a baker.

I’m a mother.

I’m a father.

I’m a baby.

I’m a tree.

I’m my life.

I’m a fruit.

I’m yours.

I’m an audio session.

I’m lasting.

I’m funny.

I’m laughing.

I’m cautious.

I’m adventurous.

I’m exciting.

I’m daring.

I’m a darling.

I’m with.

I’m new.

I’m improved.

I’m subjected.

I’m pressured.

I’m left.

I’m right.

I’m write.

I’m bright.

I’m a fighter.

I’m a sleeper.

I’m a fucker.

I’m a sucker.

I’m a strawberry.

I’m a cleaner.

I’m a sweeper.

I’m a poet.

I’m an illustrator.

I’m a hit.

I’m a number one.

I’m an ego.

I’m space.

I’m a shopping bag.

I’m a master.

I’m a slave.

I’m poor.

I’m rich.

I’m in hope.

I’m in love.

I am love.

I’m your belief.

I’m your lie.

I’m your thought.

I’m your shadow.

I’m lost.

I’m found.

I’m dead.

I’m happy.

I’m jolly.

I’m to continue.

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.05.06.01:41:00@NYC

Wish

I sit here

Listening to the music

As the heavens above open up

The clear skies engulf me

Overwhelm me with powerful humor

And calmness from the heart

I wait here

For her to come

To follow the song

Dance with me

Upon the decks of love

And grounds of diamonds

She is there

I see her standing in the distance

She comes to me slowly

I have waited years

Now she is coming

The shadows are fading

The trees no longer casting

The sun is beating

And there she is; gleaming

I sit here

Waiting all my life

And I will wait until you come

To dance with me

© 1998 David Greg Harth

97.12.20.10:05:00@07430

98.02.24.02:37:00@07430

Words

The words they are bothering me.

I’m afraid of them

They invade my privacy

Watch me as I touch myself

As I think like you and become you

As I favor your scent

and forever I remember your gaze

They define me

My ass as an American

A freedom giver

Blow-job receptor

I beg with them

To let me go

But they put me in shackles

bound me to the walls

as wicked ones rape me of my daydreams

She sucked the daylights

Out from underneath my bloody arse

and all I have to say

is

“Out damn word! Out damn word!”

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.02.05.12:15:00@07430

Wonder

Sheets of white

Glorious tones

Brown on the bed

Black in the shower

Going down the drain

That forward water

Soap turned hard

Out from the cold

A heating touch

Remember that call

Healed wound

And a pounding heart

Embrace

Heat exchanged

Tongue twisted

Late hour

Over cover

Talk up noon

Tea time

Midnight moon

Howling wonder

Out from under

Beneath stars

Chance of

Strawberry massage

Scented room

Bottle top

Cry no more

Painted picture

Poetry read

Delay of

Secrets shared

A wonder what

Dressed in black

A lifted eyebrow

And an ear left to fall

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.01.16.15:13:00@NYC