Paris, March 14th, 1932
Smashed the safety glass in the door
Shattering shards fall to the floor
Alarming the nursing staff
Calls for security
Screams echo in the halls
Frightened parents shelter their children
Up here on the 12th floor
I stand on the side of the bed
Next to the large glass windowpane
With both hands I’m griping an IV pole
Holding it parallel to the vinyl tile floor
Ready to find freedom
Ready to do nothing
Four men in white uniforms
Barged into my hospital room
Hurled me onto the bed
Haloperidol injections in my legs
Confined me in tight restraints
On the innocent white bed sheets
Arms bound
Legs bound
Thought I was living the dream
Had to break out
Had to find out what it’s all about
Audubon Ballroom across the street
Every working man got a corner coffee in their hand
tic tac breath mints lined up nicely
Control the traffic lights
Illustrate the shadows
Deliveries made to the hospital
Didn’t see that water fountain in the hallway yesterday
Went for a deep sleep in the middle of winter
Woke up to trees budding
Morning birds welcoming Spring
The new Viper
Relaxed and playful newscasters
More hair under my armpits
The Doctor having me draw dots
Draw more dots
Draw dots
Dots
Learn fast and cheek the pills
Keep three nails in the wooden door available
Hide your deodorant
Whisper about the dead
Shed light under the covers
Strangers do the Thorazine shuffle
Count, Track, Note, Observe, Deliver
Broken glass on the shag rug
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Repetition is here
This infection
No hallucination
This unknown
Molded me
Framed me
Built the skeleton that holds me upright
Shuts the closet door
Filled with secrets but not nightmares
Guy helped me
The King helped me
Little Rich helped me
With pencil in hand
Drawing pad at my side
Here I am
To declare victory
Decades later
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.27.09.34.55@130BklynNYC
Stolen Coffee
As usual, I wake up at 5:15am, every day of the week.
Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
Some mornings I eat breakfast before I work out with my trainer at the gym starting at 6:00am. Some mornings I take my 3-mile brisk walk around the park starting at 5:20am. Some mornings I do some at-home fitness. Some mornings, after breakfast, I’ll have coffee. To prepare that coffee, I first start boiling water in a blue kettle. While the water in the blue kettle is heating up, I pour the whole beans (Usually of single origin) into my bean grinder. I then grind the beans for about 20 seconds. After which I pour the ground coffee beans into one of my three French presses. The blue kettle whistles to let me know when the water has come to a boil. I turn off the flame and I pick up the blue kettle. I then pour the boiling water from the blue kettle into one of my three French presses. Then I place the plunger and top of the French press in place, but don’t yet plunge it downwards. I let the coffee sit and sit. Then when I think of it, usually, I’d say, 5-10 minutes of seeping, I plunge the filter downwards in the beaker of one of my three French presses.
My coffee smells delicious.
The scent alone rattles my insides.
With notes of rich smoky chocolate.
I pour my hot coffee into a huge 16oz white mug that has the letters “coffee” on one side. I’ve always wondered why it was spelled “coffee” and not “Coffee” with a capital letter “C.” I’m convinced this mug holds more than 16oz. I love this mug so much. So much that I bought two of them, out of, perhaps, irrational fear, that one mug would break one day. Years later, I found the mug again and purchased two more. I now own four of them. All are operational, not broken, and continue to bring joy in my life every day of the week.
Sunday
Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
Saturday
I was alarmed today.
Someone stole my coffee.
My coffee was gone.
And gone was my coffee.
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.24.08:31:09@130BklynNYC
Sorry I’m Late
My watch around my wrist
Not too tight to make an impression
Finest time piece from Mesozoic times
Even a collection can’t buy time
With paisley shirts and penny loafers
Opa’s cuckoo clock
From the streets of Gießen
To Kristallnacht’s escape
Discovered it was a dentist’s office
Now a student’s flat
Sister’s clock radio with the red digital digits
Made of plastic wood
With wire cord too short
Alarm set early and snooze always pressed
Upside down books get you nowhere
Grandfather clock down the hall
Chimes on every hour like a soldier
From Bethlehem to Queens
Ghosts never left home
Elijah waltzes in without veto
Tick Tock the clock the students spy on
Until school day’s end
Hanging on institutional green paint
Recess at play be gay
Jeanne gave chocolates behind the teacher’s desk
A lost man in a meadow
Taught me to read the sun
As he bled from his wounds
His blood mixed with the dirt
If only he called ahead
I apologize I’m late.
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.14.15.06.17@130BklynNYC
The Chair
When I was a young child,
My parents would sit me in a chair
And force me to watch them have sex
–
I’d say, if I recall correctly,
This happened frequently,
When I was between the ages of 7 and 9
Definitely before I reached puberty
It happened in evenings mainly
Sometimes afternoons
And was usually on weekends
Even more precisely,
Saturdays
They would call me into their bedroom
I’d see the chair. Or shall I say,
“The Chair”
It was a chair specifically for one type of usage
For me to sit on
When my parents had sex
So, when they called me into their bedroom
And I saw the chair
I knew what was about to happen
And I knew I had to take a seat
I would never see the chair
On any other occasion
In fact, I’m not sure where they stored it
In a closet? In the attic? In the basement?
It was not a folding chair, so, obviously,
It had to take up a significant amount of space
It could not have been hidden in a corner behind curtains
Or behind the laundry hamper
The chair was made of wood
No idea what kind. Pine?
The wood shade was on the lighter side
Does that make it Pine?
I am no wood expert
I am not a carpenter
The chair was not stained
The chair was not painted
Just the raw wood
The chair didn’t seem old
But didn’t seem new
But it did seem used before it was used by me
But for different occasions than I used it for
The chair had a back to it
So, I was able to sit, somewhat comfortably
At least in a physical way
They did not tie me to the chair
In reflection, I don’t know why I didn’t get up
Perhaps out of fear for retaliation
From my parents
Sometimes you just do what you are told
I thought this was normal
I never spoke of this to my friends at the time
I figured many people have done this with their parents
I did not find it strange
I did not find it awkward or a violation
Or an abuse
It’s what I grew up with
I sat in the chair
Always clothed
Usually in clothing an average kid would wear at that age
I was never naked
Maybe once or twice in my pajamas
I was never degraded
I was never made to feel belittled
I was never made to feel out of place
In a way, I was welcomed
I sat in the chair
Somewhat relaxed
Sometimes my hands were in my lap
Sometimes my hands gripped the edges of the chair
I’m surprised, if I recall correctly,
I never did get any splinters from the wooden chair
I sat in the chair
And watched my parents have sex
On rare occasion
My father would say to me,
“Are you watching?”
And if my father didn’t say it, my mother would say,
“Are you watching us?”
That is distinct in my mind
My father just said it more simply,
As if he was more concerned with me
Being aware of the action
Whereas my mother added the word “Us”
To the end of her question,
As if she was more concerned with me
Acknowledging that these two people
In front of me having sex
Were my mother and father
My parents
Growing older, it often came up jokingly in conversation
Among friends and partners,
“Have you ever walked in on your parents having sex?”
I would always dodge answering or just say that I never did
The reality is, I probably sat in the chair one hundred times
Watching my parents have sex
Could that number be accurate?
I’m shrugging my shoulders
Could this be possible?
I think so?
Every time when I see a chair
Especially a wooden chair
I think of my childhood
And how I sat in the chair
And watched my parents have sex
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.07.15.29.03@130BklynNYC
Accuracy
Last night I attended an event at an art space
Part lecture
Part performance
Before I entered the venue
I was standing outside on the street
A stranger struck up a conversation with me
He asked what I did for a living
I said, “I’m an artist.”
He immediately said, “I’m sorry.”
Followed by asking me,
“Have you tried killing yourself yet?”
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.05.07.04.23@130BklynNYC
Scab
I am the scab
that keeps coming back
I am the head in the oven
I am the river below the bridge
I am the tracks guiding the train
I am the knife hidden in the drawer
I am the gasoline next to the kindling
I am the current beneath the hull of the ferry
I am the mouth on the end of the exhaust pipe
I am the spool of heavy rope in the corner of the studio
I am the time not taken
I am the eulogy not given
I am the echo in your head on repeat
I am the revolver you pick up at the end of the day
I am the depression that whips you around the bend
I am the scab
you cannot defeat
I am the scab
you cannot heal
I am the scab
you cannot pick off
I am the scab
you cannot let go of
I am the scab
that keeps coming back
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.03.14.46.16@130BklynNYC
He’s Licking
Look at that
Take a close look
How does he do that?
How does he bend like that?
How does he lift up that leg?
And go in between?
He’s so flexible
He’d be embarrassed if he missed a little area
He’d have to make sure he’d circle back
To attend the darkest hidden gems
To make right what was wrong
Look how precise he is
Look how much tender care he takes
Look how much time he spends in each little spot
Day or night
In the sun or darkness
On the bed or on the floor
Does not matter
How does he do that?
I must admit I have great admiration for him
He’s so dedicated
He’s so thorough
One would even say he’s passionate
Look at that
Take a close look
Look at my cat
He’s so great at cleaning
himself
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.01.21.04.32@130BklynNYC
Restless Heart
I’ve told you many times about how you’ve saved my life
A life full of
disease and corruption
A life full of
lies and obliteration
A life full of
deceit and recklessness
A life full of
aggression and cowardliness
A life full of
laziness and selfishness
A life full of
anger and manipulation
A life full of
destruction and misery
A life full of
greed and gluttony
A life full of
jealousy and impulsivity
A life full of
foolishness and irresponsibility
A life full of
depression and cannibalism
A life full of
envy and disgust
A life full of
torture and necrophilia
A life full of
falsehoods and homicide
A life full
blindness and viruses
A life ending
in suicide
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.04.01.16.51.00@130BklynNYC
Fist Full of Bones
Woke up covered in earth
Face down
Disrespected
Full of remorse
Unwilling to repent
Have forgotten yesterday’s existence
Tired
Tired of so many things
Tired of the daily fray
Rattled
Vibrated
Shook
Memories in such a deep sarcophagus
I’ve written words on these inside walls
Read them
Overground procession I never wanted
A reserved tomb
An accident waiting to happen
Insects chirping
Evening falling
Inappropriate touching
False feeling
Counterfeit belonging
Swollen
Skin peeling
Sewn
Shattered pieces
Sadistic
Scratched entrails
Broken children play their games
Destroyed parents weep their tears
Silent winds whisper their secrets
The offering of the serpent
My fist clenches the dirt
Syringes in my thighs
Encephalitis in my head
Not going anywhere
Stayed in limbo
Static between worlds
Of art and love
Under the newspaper’s coverage
Disregarded
The yearning was my greatest infection
Got me burned and got me buried
Betrayal was venom’s new trick
As I descended into darkness
Kept my teeth in a locked safe
Swept up the loose fillings
Threw fresh logs onto the fire
Bones made for hire
Fist full of bones
Ready to eradicate
Eat my tasty flesh
Belly fat, brain virus
Jumped off the building
Heart’s affection
Drain my cerebrospinal fluid
Absence of mind
In constant battle
To create an honorable exodus
Dressed in a suit
Without knowing the day
Binding ring, forever I do
I took the obscure path
To avoid the judgement in the valley
It was my false devotion
That took me to an early grave
Allow this madness to recede
Let the depression hide
Carve out my eyes blind
Death certificate signed
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.03.30.21.19.41@130BklynNYC
JuJu JoJo
Everything is so great!
I am charmed by my amazing fate!
Everything is so gooooood!
So much better than my childhood!
Nothing could be better!
Not even a winning Publishing Clearing House letter!
There’s only good news!
There’s no time for evening blues!
From every direction everything is just fine!
This amazing life is totally mine!
I’m in an awesome relationship!
She has my heart in a tight grip!
I have a dream occupation!
I live in the greatest nation!
I’m healthy as can be!
Every day so much glee!
All this JuJu
Up and Up
JuJu JoJo!
JuJu JoJo!
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.03.21.13.04.00@130BklynNYC
The Sea Garden
The cats come in
The cats come out
At night,
Feed them all about
At day,
Sleep until the sun is highest in the sky
And sleep some more
She was a mystery
I had not known
Oceans swarm
As a sea garden blooms
But her cat on a bench
Looked just like mine
Even though her cat on the bench
Was not really her cat
But just a cat
Sleeping in the sun
Until the sun was highest in the sky
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.03.26.07.37.00@130BklynNYC
The Narcissistic Fool
Needing
a shrink
a therapist
a psychologist
a mental health professional
Needing
a joker
a clown
a comedian
a court jester
The mystification of explanation
The distraction of truth
The absence of innocence
The concealment of pain
She constantly pushes away those that love her most
Secrecy of the self is proclaimed
Over time, those that love her most
Keep getting pushed further away
Until finally,
The Narcissistic Fool is left all alone
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.26.10.40.36@130NYC
Affection Slut
She drools
She chokes
She slobbers
She swallows
wet
&
piss
&
cum
dripping
soaking
sopping
slurping
soaked
doused
drained
saturated
d r e n c h e d
In my juices
My stickiness
My filing station
My stallion battalion
My everything from deep within
Alive and ready
Spread and true
Thirsty for my offerings
Available to beg and deliver
Ripe for the taking and abuse
Trained to obey and say yes to my demands
Breaking the dam
Flooding the sheets
Parting her legs wide open
Time for the air to be moist with her cravings
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.25.16.47.00@130BklynNYC
Return Return
Disco biscuit frisky
Lubed up by Crisco quite risky
Christ & Co.
Gays of San Francisco
Miso Soup
Round back loop
Penetrate bout eight
Night time how bout a date
Water walking Jesus
Conversations frees us
Swirling in the vortex
Straight out of my cerebral cortex
Catastrophe recipe
Kaleidoscopic ecstasy
Purring white kitty
Massive thundering seismicity
Office of the clergy
Abandon morals for the cosmic orgy
Sizzle chisel below
Crop top halo
Tongue taste Butterfinger
Tangerine linger
Monkey wallet swallow
Add one more follow
Quiz taking direction
Up and down erection
Masterful masturbator
Let me introduce you to my incubator
Shy for saying hello
Reprimanded such a blow
Cowboy on the line dance
Raising my hand for a chance
Orange soda pop
Deleted a file from my desktop
Shirt so silver of sliver
Sliding in and out of your red river
Jewel of a secret told
Teacher held me tight to scold
Boiled down to the great escape
Mind of mine up to date rape
Paid up to pray
Slide down the hole of prey
Back at store for a refund
Cashed out my slush fund
Popped a pimple
Slept deeply like Rip Van Winkle
Lover’s quarrel bathe and towel
Inside out disembowel
Gave a ten got change for a five
Under the tracks no more jive
Boardwalk kiss
Spectator crowd growled a hiss
Forceps grab my skin
Make a wish upon the naked jinn
Snap Crackle Pop
Hang up the clock – it’s time to stop
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.24.17.07.41@130BklynNYC
If you are reading this, it means that I am dead,
Never cried like that –
I read your e-mail
My heart dropped
I fell to my knees
I crumbled into disbelief
I sunk into immediate grief
The earth swallowed me whole
A knife pierced my heart
Profound infinite sadness hit me like a concrete wall
Left with nothing but drifting reasons
I knew about the turmoil
I knew about second chances
I knew about faults
and I knew about the haunts
I knew about the abyss, the loss, the lost
I knew about the frost that freezes you solid
I knew about the contemplations
The methods
and
The great deep gorge
All else hidden from my position in the inner circle
I knew about the torture
I knew about the pain
I knew about the struggle
The love
The lack of love
The fighting
The understanding
The diagnosis
The family
The torn pieces
The excess of judgement
I knew about the self-destruction
I knew about the fixation
I knew about the desperation
The mourning of the day
The false prophecies
The agony
The self
I read your e-mail
Which path will you choose?
Another statistic?
Perhaps the footsteps of the Leporidae?
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.22.20.30.00@NYC
16-21, 16-08
I first met her at 21
It wasn’t until later that she was at 8
Her eyes opened as soon as I arrived
She looked abysmally beautiful
I was right,
the calendar was incorrect
the hourglass was misguided
the orbit of the planet was wrong
I remember the last time I saw her
Taken away for corrections
Freely volunteered
Escaping reality
I treasured her even more
A shooting star in the darkness of night
A double rainbow hugging the horizon
A diamond in the forgotten quarry
A four-leaf clover undiscovered
A pearl in the deepest oyster
A hand in my hand
She is my forever recipient
To everything I have to give
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.21.10.00.00@424E34NYC
The Hardest Part
Seeing her on the gurney being wheeled away
Departing when she was alone most
Nothing I could do
But guide her crying mother back to the waiting area
Said my goodbyes in the prep room
You are never ready for that quick goodbye
Eyes locked, arms embracing, a hug, a kiss
As if the goodbye was good luck
As if the goodbye was more of a “See you later.”
As if the goodbye was a hope, not a last
-
The static white noise
The constant inconsistent beeps
The helicopters outside the window
The air conditioner breeze drying out eyes
The competing sounds battle for my attention
The bright lights dim but never shut off completely
Everything is so sterile
Everything is so new and clean
Everything is so modern and technically advanced
The competitive claim to extra pillows
The wake up when she wakes up technique
The staff is so friendly when she’s so drowsy or awake
We slept in the same room
So near and yet so far apart
We both had movable devices we slept upon
We both had sheets
We both had scars
She had a call button
I had my confident serenity
No complaints about eating
She finished her apple sauce
I finished her mashed potatoes
-
Seeing the Eastern moon rise and fall in the night
The skyline of Queens and Brooklyn are my getting lost points
Reflecting in the East river
Williamsburg bridge just South
Queensboro bridge just North
In the distance; Throgs Neck Bridge,
or, was it the Whitestone Bridge?
Definitely not the Triborough Bridge
-
Days and weeks and months and a year of planning
Of preparation and uncertainty
Of clarification and research
Of medical exams and tests
-
Lesson learned
You can fall in love with someone even more
-
The hardest part
Seeing her on the gurney being wheeled away
Departing when she was alone most
And there was nothing I could do
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.18.10.34.00@424E34NYC
The Night Before
Tidy up belongings
Yesterday’s effort makes tomorrow easier
Organize everything perfectly
Preparation eases the pain
Tie up loose ends
Acknowledgment yields arrangements
Reckon with possibilities
Covenanting with the facts
Planning makes it palpable
Enjoy laughter
Dream of travels
Search for cottages
Savor the last great feast
Sleep like my angel savior
Pack up your bags
The moon dismantles the sun
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.17.20.00.00@130NYC
Hellscape
Oh Fuck
Billy the goat
Revisions and compulsions
No clear directions or asks or wanted needs
Just mysterious disheveled thoughts
Scattered brains
Spewed details
No real reasons
Tight deadlines
And tight lips
Spreading lies
And point of concepts
All the way until conception
Comprehension
Follow inception
Coded and caddled
Last month’s communication
Sacrificial communion
CHRIST
I’m not religious
But fuck this and fuck that
Hellscape
Wild time in and wild time out
Day of work, bleed the day
Tectonic Titantic
Tyrant transmitted
Disregarded forfeited
Salty tears
No god on my plate
Commiserate
Contemplate
Now I’ve met my fate
© 2025 David Greg Harth
25.02.14.17.01.01@130BklynNYC