Every Long Day Has An End

I was born at the wrong time

I learned thousands

Soon, today will be over

© 2008 David Greg Harth

08.03.21.16:30:57@599NYC

Expired

My time has come.

I’ve turned into thin dust.

Howling winds collected my remains.

My love for you has been carried away.

Silent tears break the waves of enchantment.

My heart is crushed to a pulp.

Dead beneath the sea.

Nothing can revive.

I’m expired.

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.12.26.14:14:25@205HudsonNYC

End

Not one,

Not even her,

Or his brother or his sister,

Not even his grandfather, mother or father.

Not even his co-worker, his friends out west or on other continents.

No one believed it would ever happen.

It was a cold day in New York.

Freezing to the bone.

Frigid.

Cool air collected in one corner of the room.

He had a headache.

Perfectly.

December 9th

A knock at the door

Found him dead on the floor.

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.12.08.21:00:51@296NYC

Ending Pain

Take your knife

Follow the delicate patterns

Trim me complete

Follow my scar lines

Somethings are better left not understood

Remove me from this life

Slit my throat

Reach up inside

Tie my tongue in a philosophical knot

Rip my hair out

And tear off my fingernails

Burn my flesh

Feed my bones to machines

Put my cock in a noose

Swallow my insides as I am alive

Let the people honor me at my funeral

Write notes in class

My lover’s disease is no sin

Show no mercy

Place your sword against my heart

Now thrust

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.10.30.15:05:49@205HudsonNYC

Everyone

Everyone stops to think

and everyone stops to reflect.

Everyone stops to smell the flowers

and everyone stops to inhale.

Everyone stops to smile

and everyone stops to laugh.

Everyone stops to rest

and everyone stops to sleep.

Everyone stops to create

and everyone stops to grow.

Everyone stops to thank you

and everyone stops to welcome.

Everyone stops to write

and everyone stops to read.

Everyone stops to witness

and everyone stops to admire.

Everyone stops

But who will stop to love?

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.07.31.01:58:26@205HudsonNYC

Execute

Afterwards,

When all the spectators have dispersed,

When the last crow sung its morning call,

When migrant workers marched on,

When heaven came to meet the horizon,

When your open heart became available,

It’s when I kneel,

hold, kiss, and touch

and become the man

of your half.

So, declare your honesty,

Let the silent heart speak,

For I have been listening.

Afterwards,

Beneath the stars,

We’ll make love by the Mediterranean.

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.07.21.02:37:36@296NYC

Elysium (Version #2)

Knowing that he,

Now disrobed from his wreaths of reign,

Set free from his constant pain.

Knowing that he,

With an unopened heart he lay,

Among snakes he now drowns in clay.

Knowing that he,

Untouched by the vibrant voices of the siren’s calls,

Survived the stays down long twelfth floor halls.

Knowing that he,

Conqueror of the midland’s fields of wheat,

Never a life so undone and so discrete.

Knowing that he,

Delivery agent of the compass made of gold,

Still his story has yet to unfold.

Knowing that he,

With flesh untouched by virgin’s hands,

Until the very end he had plans.

Knowing that he,

Never sung the choir’s song,

He knew on earth he did not belong.

Knowing that he,

Accomplished the greatest master piece,

Truly they know he is without cease.

Knowing that he,

Inside the grand depth deep.

Forever now he will sleep.

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.03.09.07:42:44@296NYC

Elysium

They assembled—

Knowing that he,

Now disrobed from his wreaths of reign,

Set free from his constant pain.

Knowing that he,

With an unopened heart he lay,

Among snakes he now drowns in clay.

Knowing that he,

Untouched by the vibrant voices of the siren’s calls,

Survived the stays down long twelfth floor halls.

Knowing that he,

Conqueror of the midland’s fields of wheat,

Never a life so undone and so discrete.

Knowing that he,

Delivery agent of the compass made of gold,

Still his story has yet to unfold.

Knowing that he,

With flesh untouched by virgin’s hands,

Until the very end he had plans.

Knowing that he,

Never sung the choir’s song,

He knew on earth he did not belong.

Knowing that he,

Accomplished the greatest master piece,

Truly they know he is without cease.

Knowing that he,

Inside the grand depth deep.

Forever now he will sleep.

However,

The gatherers were mistaken.

The great one was indeed in love,

In love with the she.

And her name is —

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.03.09.07:41:07@296NYC

Elevator

Move it

Rub your lips

Like the way you do

On the upward elevator

Dance

Gyrate

Wish you were my Valentine

Viewing your gallery

Obsession in my elevator

Rub your lips

With your treat

My treat

Wish it was

Elevator Up?

Going up

I am up

Erect in this building

Going far

Until I open up

Fifth floor

Walk-Up

Get Out

She’s wet

Rub your lips

Dance

Hear my compact

Just reach out

Touch me

You know that

1970’s

Rub your lips

Just once more

© 2006 David Greg Harth

06.02.07.11:42:33@205HudsonNYC

Every Night

Every night

I forget to thank you

But tonight, I have not.

Thank you

For loving me.

© 2003 David Greg Harth

03.02.19.02:32:47@296NYC

Escaping Thoughts

Every day, since I was little, I had a crush on you.

The only problem is that I’ve never met you.

I thought I met you a dozen times, and perhaps I did,

but you grew and changed form before I could adapt.

Every day, I think I’ll meet you. But when I think maybe

that I have met you, turns out you are involved already,

or you are married, or you don’t live in my city. Or you

are not intelligent enough or you are too up tight sexually

or you hate the music which I enjoy.

Every day, with hope at my side, I search for you, or wait

for you. I go back and forth with the execution of the

procedure. (back and forth, back and forth) Eventually,

possibly, I’ll meet you. But, I haven’t met you yet. Or maybe

I did, and you are right there in front of me? I really don’t know.

Every day, I think that you reside in New York City, or a few

other places, like Korea, London and Cuba. Love is in Cuba,

my dream is in Korea, I love the English accent, and in my

city of New York, you have a cowboy hat on. One day, perhaps.

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.06.05.12:37:31@16515NYC

EMO

Dear Ladies,

This past weekend I took a class in EMO. A two day course taught by two doctors that are married to each other. They are experts in sensuality and sexuality with ongoing courses in New York and California. They also have their own book out. I learned a lot this weekend. One thing I learned, is that I myself, have had the right ideas about sensuality and sexuality all along. But I also learned a lot which I did not know, and learned on how I can improve in the areas in which I lack. By improving in these areas, that will make my relationships with my lovers and partners even better. At this point, you may be reading and wondering what EMO stands for. I’d be delighted to tell you. EMO stands for Extended Massive Orgasm.  Basically, the course taught me how to stimulate a woman with hand to genital contact and the possibility of giving her an EMO. In fact, part of the course was the husband and wife doctor team demonstrating. I witnessed the wife have an hour long Orgasm. Our problem as a general society is that we define an orgasm as cumming or ejaculating. But that is not the focus of the course. A person can indeed be in an orgasmic state, for as long as they want, if you (yourself, or your partner) has the right touch. I won’t go on much longer, but, I did learn the technique by attending the demo workshop and hands on workshop. I’ve also been reading the book too. So, ladies, I’m here. I’m available. And, I need to practice what I have learned. (Ha ha, but I really did go to this course.)

Yours truly,

David Greg Harth

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.06.02.23:00:00@296NYC

Embrace

I would have the bathtub ready for you

Just after you arrive home from work

Filled with hot soothing water

The surface draped in beautiful flower petals

Light from candles warm up the room to a golden hue

My smile can conquer any of the day’s sadness

With my hands I guide you to the scent of blossoms

Slowly I disrobe you and caress your soft ivory skin

Gently you submerge deeply into the hot bath

Mystical music is playing in the surroundings

We talk and laugh and smile

Exchange the warmness that surpasses the heat of the flames

I rub your wet back with my strong hands

Run my fingers through your silky hair and wash the beauty clean

Give you a delicate kiss on your sweet lips

I depart the bathroom for you to relax

As I prepare dinner for two

With the freshest of ingredients

Cooked to the perfection of your taste

Glasses of wine now await your re-entry

We have a lovely meal and a treat for dessert

Share stories of the past and dreams of the future

Have stimulating and inspirational conversation

Feeling connected during this moment caught in time

I lead you to the bedroom to have our own symphony

...

After the hours of love-making

The kisses to your lips

The traces of my tongue around your ear

The kisses to your inner thigh

The traces of my finger around the contour of your body

The kisses to your nipples

The traces of my scents intertwining with yours

The kisses to your back

The traces of my finger upon your navel

After all the kissing and tracing and love-making

We sleep together, in an embrace.

© 2002 David Greg Harth

02.02.02.02:02:02 @ 296 New York City

Elevator Music Stinks In My Pocket

What’s that smell?

It’s Elevator Music

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.12.23.19:54:37@296 NYC

Escalators

I have to speak about Escalators.

There is little hope for the human race.

Very little hope.

I hate riding down the DOWN Escalator!

Why can’t people WALK down the DOWN Escalator?!

Is the human race getting that lazy?!

That they must stand while riding the Escalator going DOWN?!

Why can’t they walk down the damn Escalator?

Why do they just stand there,

waiting for the moving steps to bring them to the next walking surface?

Don’t they have someplace to go?

Isn’t that a great waste of time?

Life is about waiting.

We wait everywhere.

In traffic.

For a train.

At the bank.

In line for food.

Why do people force themselves to waste time by standing

on the DOWN Escalator?

It drives me NUTS!

How can we have world peace filled with intelligent people,

if people are so darn lazy they can’t walk DOWN the darn Escalator?

Before you know it, nobody will be walking. We’ll having moving sidewalks.

Then what will happen?

People will lose the functionality of our legs and they will fall off.

Then our butts will become nobbing knobs that roll and scoot across the land.

Legless. Hopeless.

Start walking DOWN the DOWN Escalator!

PLEASE! All of you! I beg you!!!

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.12.10.01:42:28@296NYC

Enemy

Part I.

I am the Enemy.

I am the target.

Everyone hates me.

From South to West.

The married, the involved, the single.

I have done mad, evil things.

I am no longer, the icon of beauty,

the icon of what perfect mistakes can be.

I am no longer, the loved, the hero, the dreamer.

I am just an Enemy.

I am target number one.

I am the devil from hell.

I am God’s Enemy; I don’t believe in him.

I am the Enemy, by choice.

I am her lasting Enemy.

I am their worst nightmare; I caused children’s tears.

I am the Enemy.

I am evil.

I am removed, forgotten, brushed away.

I am looked down upon, frowned upon, spit upon.

People turn their heads as they pass me.

People turn their heads as thoughts of me run through their mind

Part II.

I am the Enemy.

Because I was being me, instead of someone.

I am the Enemy.

Because I am not here tonight, but elsewhere.

I am the Enemy.

Because I have caused pain, for the sacrifice of my own.

I am the Enemy.

Because I am human.

I am the Enemy.

Everyone thinks I’m a fool.

I am the Enemy.

Everyone thinks I have no soul.

I am the Enemy.

Everyone thinks I’m made of filth.

I am the Enemy.

Everyone thinks I deserve blood.

I am the Enemy.

Because soundtracks to films did not spell out my life story.

I am the Enemy.

Because I did not swear the truths I didn’t believe in.

I am the Enemy.

Because my mind escaped every day.

I am the Enemy.

Because you made me the Enemy.

Enemy Number One.

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.12.06.03:48:02@296NYC

01.12.07.03:16:18@296NYC

Everything

I cut off my ear, I give it you

It’s for you, have my ear.

I cut off all my limbs, I give them to you

They are for you, have my limbs.

My art. It’s all yours. Everything.

I give it all to you.

My possessions. It’s all yours. Everything.

I give it all to you.

The last breath I contain. It’s yours. I give it to you.

I give you my last breath.

I give you my honor.

I give you my courage.

I give you everything I have.

I give you everything I will ever be.

I am the pain. Let me become the pain.

Let me become the eaten. The torn. The lost. The death.

I remove all my senses.

My lips. My tongue. My eyelids. My nostrils.

The touch, all removed.

My tears can only make you float.

Float to peace. It’s the only thing I can do.

I give you my last dance. I give you my last bouquet.

I give you the music I create. I give you the poetry in my heart.

I give you the entire world. The world in which I can only exist.

I give you my mind. I give you my soul. I give you my God.

I am the pain. Let me become the pain.

Let me become the fire. The scar. The nobody.

I give you everything. Everything that I have become.

Everything I fought for. Everything I dreamed up.

I give you everything I created. Everything I believed in.

Everything I stood for. Everything I loved.

I give you the silence. The storm. The twisted fingers in your hands.

I give you my two brains. I give you my truth. I give you my sadness.

I give you everything. Everything in this world.

but don’t leave me forgotten in this world...

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.11.15.04:33:00@296NYC

Empty Standard Gasoline

She woke up next me

The smell of gasoline was soaked into her ivory skin

She was soft and her voice was young

My Adam’s apple was split in half and I was speechless

I could feel a warm ooze between my legs

Half way down my shaft and halfway down my back

She smelled of dirt

Of wet sex

And dogs out in the city summer rain

She smelled wasted

Round and forgiven

And like last night’s butter

I couldn’t turn to look at her

But I knew her voice

I knew the texture of her long blonde hair

And the way her eyebrows curved around her eyes

I couldn’t remember what happened the night before

Or the morning after

I couldn’t remember who I made love to

And who I last fucked

The gasoline scent now taking over all my senses

Making my nose burn with pleasure

Making my hands tremble with guilt

Making my toes itch and my fingers frozen

Making my ears deaf and mouth dry

I remember her sitting up

Scratching my back and digging her nails into my skin

Reaching around and pinching my red nipples

Grabbing at my knees and pushing them towards my chest

Making me lay in the fetal position

As she scored and threw me about

The gasoline now mixing with my seed

I don’t know what I’ll do in emptiness

I don’t know what music to listen too

I don’t know what weapon to use

And I don’t know which direction to take

And I don’t know who left the door open

Or whose soiled panties are around my neck -

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.04.02.49:22:00 @ 296 NYC

01.04.03.19:41:00 @ 296 NYC

01.04.04.12:52:00 @ 296 NYC

Every Morning

I wake up every morning

and I ask myself

is life worth living

or should I kill myself?

I wake up most mornings

I ask myself

Is today’s life worth living?

Or should I kill myself?

I wake up in the morning

And I ask myself

Is life worth living?

Or should I kill myself?

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.03.11.12:00:00@Houston&Mercer NYC

01.03.14.03:21:00@296 NYC

Escape (Version #2)

For once in your life

I dare you to take my hand

And escape

For a little while

Take my hand

Let me show you a new horizon

Where the sun is always beautiful

And your brown eyes are always powerful

Escape into the sky

And into the sea

Into the family of willow trees

And lakeside walks

Escape where silence gives you energy

And talking makes your soul warm

Come with me where God is your friend

And no longer my enemy

Escape into the ark of passion

And discover the hidden secrets

Cry upon my shoulder

And find yourself within me

Escape with the blue river

And let the current take you for a ride

Let the embrace hold you

And the warmth penetrates you

Escape into the smiles that last

And always remember

I’ll be here

Until you tell me to go

© 2000 David Greg Harth

00.02.01.00:00:00@NYC

00.03.01:00:00:00@NYC