Swimming
I have parked in others spaces. I do it all the time. I love to do it. I pay to do it. They invite me. I have an invitation. I have proof. I have love; a devil’s look. A devil’s gold. I have a number. The first in line. A wonder about tradition. A complexity of design. A summer dream. A wet pillow. It’s a sunrise on the beach. One over the buildings, below the docks. The summer is ending, the life has just begun. See it, the garden? The apple trees? I own them. Come let’s play.... We will do our own surgery. Make a new living. The art of surgery. You love me, don’t you? Come, come to my house. There is a party. A new one for you, and for me. Let go. It’s time to go. Let’s go swimming.
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.04.12.17:05:00@31USQWNYC
Shoe Thieves
Yes, it is a corporation with business personnel,
A cathedral with levels of hierarchy,
A stadium with players and teams.
Yes it is a government with laws,
A playground with rides,
A human with systems.
Yes it is a world of thieves and burglars who steal your ideas.
But what is most important in this shadowy world?
In this world of quietness, darkness, and expression.
It is not competition,
It is not black clothing,
It is not hair on our skulls bursting with ideas and concepts.
What it is, is shoes.
Shoes, some give a damn, some do not.
But all in all, one picked those for some special reason.
Looks, comfort, support or credibility.
It does not matter, shoes are important.
Shoes tell us where you have been, and where you are going.
They tell us about you, your style and personality.
Black or hot pink.
Leather or plastic.
Clear or opaque.
Laces, buttons, zippers, or buckles.
High heels or flats.
Long or short.
Platforms or glitter infested.
They help the other cannibals in this little world.
To see you and to see through you.
Our world of our own.
Our world of shoes.
© 1995 David Greg Harth
95.03.02.16:34:00@31USQWNYC
Scott
Tough Guy
5 foot, 8 inch Italian
Shot 8 times, stabbed too many
Slick hair
His right eye flickers
from a gunshot wound
The scars point out
entries and exits of bullets
Bulging veins cover his arms
He is off the Thorazine and doesn’t do the scuffle
He is on new medication,
medication that could put 8 horses to sleep
His huge appetite consumes all the hospital food
He brushed his teeth until his gums bled
A rough life
Lost his father at a young age,
supported his mother and sister,
and grew up in a world of drugs
and destroyed his life
A delivery man and a lumberjack,
a seller and a buyer
He cared and understood
He’s changing his life now,
I made him laugh,
and he helped me understand.
He helped me, and I helped him
A stranger, then a friend, and now a memory
He was Guy Scott
I called him Scott
He respects life now and has changed
He was Guy Scott, a friend, a gift from God.
© 1992 David Greg Harth
92.05.03.22:00:00@NewCityNY