Do You Dream The Way I Do?
And I asked you again,
“Do You Dream The Way I Do?”
No response
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.02.27.17:52:00@296NYC
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
Love (Play)
Love
bird
Love
fellow
Love
you
Love
hate
Love
war
Love
peace
Love
lover
Love
sex
Love
talent
Love
kiss
Love
now
Love
yesterday
Love
no more
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.02.16.02:14:14@296NYC
VDZER0THREE
You asked me to leave it alone
To let it be
Just let it go
I did
And now we are both left with nothing
No answers
No hopes
No questions
Nothing
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.02.14.16:23:00@296NYC
Dying Of A Broken Heart
My eyes are failing me.
My eye sight is going.
My ears are failing me.
My hearing is going.
My spine is failing me.
My discs are out of alignment.
My throat is failing me.
My acid is eating at my esophagus.
My heart is failing me.
My doctor said that I am dying of a broken heart.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.02.12.24:08:00@296NYC
Sicka Sicka Sista
It’s your Sicka Sicka Sista
Knocking at the door
The blonde brunette
With a salamander crawling up her leg
She’s got the tongue of a serpent
And she won’t let me go
It’s cold outside
The rain is falling down on us
Free rounds all around
On me and my non-stamped non-delivered bills
I’ve been pushed around
Pulled a bit
Haven’t had sex since age seventeen
Now I know that you have given me slow roasted salmon
And I know how much you enjoy the dance you dance
But I must tell you
About the something I have for you
Oh Sicka Sicka Sista
Now, don’t get me wrong
I’ve learned so much from your conversing thoughts
And I’ve learned to understand the theory of it all
But why must you invade me like a fly trap
I’ll never quite figure it out
In the meantime
Dinner at Eight
Set the plates for two
I’ll be dressed in my suit
With my stockings beneath
Or not
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.02.06.05:12:49 @ 296 NYC
Scattered Love
I have love for you.
It’s scattered all over this hard wood floor.
Pick up the pieces and feel for yourself.
I love you immensely.
There, I said it.
I love you.
What more could you ask for?
I’ve said those three little words.
I’ve opened my heart. As open as it could possibly get.
My love for you is all over.
This earth is covered in my love for you.
Scattered from ocean to ocean.
I love you.
And I’ll say it again.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.02.01.05:22:02@296NYC
Why
I can’t ask you why you don’t love me.
I can’t ask you for the specific reasons.
I can’t ask you to go away and leave me.
I can’t ask you to understand me.
I can’t ask you to give yourself completely.
I can’t ask you to share with me what you wish not too.
I can’t ask you for forgiveness that I do not deserve.
I can’t ask you to come back to me.
I can’t ask you any of these things.
I can’t ask you why,
For I’m not sure I wish to know the answer.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.01.26.01:27:32@296NYC
Dream (Version #2)
I have a dream,
and you are not a part of it.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.01.23.19:16:00@87thSt&LexingtonNYC
I was wrong
Missed,
the last hour glass
crossing the river
east to west
Penetrated,
your mind in a moment
felt like forever
in just a second
Felt,
your soul intermingles with mine
wrap and intertwine
slither in ocean patterns
Sought,
lovers I haven’t found
or humans in contact
in last night’s dance
Believed,
in so many things
if they were imaginary
but I was wrong,
I bleed.
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.01.13.21:10:00@10THST&GREENWICHAVENYC
You Just Know Love
You just know when you are in love
When she smothers you with everything she’s got
And you feel grand every morning...
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.01.03.21:11:46@296NYC
Spit, Blood, Fire (New Year’s Day 03)
Fire did not come
Snow Rabbit did not arrive
Cat ran off
Other cat has been called
We saw a rockstar
Bought chewing gum on Prince Street
Had my smoked chicken
On Mott Street
No gangs here
Just outside
But a beauty of blonde
Writing creatives just under my bills
A toast at home
Shirt removal too
Went to ten and one
Visited the lesbians
Left rather quickly
Brisk walk
Did not go
Lounge around back
For One Twenty Five
Turn round the corner
What do you see?
Tom & Jerry’s and a big T.V.
She thought he was hot
He ate her arm
She hugged he and he and her and her and even me
She felt her ass
We all bought drinks
I asked for a better hug
She gave her pussy to her Three Thousand Dollar Ass
Laughter shared
But no B. here
Fun times round
Minnesota, Wisconsin, run into the ground
The beautiful librarian kissed
Smacked in the nose
The blood dripped down
Fifty Dollar shirt, now blood stained memory
Fire on the corner
Put out the fire
Saved a life
Saved a life
On New Year’s Day
© 2003 David Greg Harth
03.01.01.10:27:06@296NYC
I Got Shot At
I’ve been up working on my art through Christmas Eve and the entire night.
It’s now early morning Christmas Day.
I am an atheist, so I don’t celebrate the holiday.
At about 3:30am I went out to Han’s Deli on Broadway and Bleecker St.
to get a snack to eat. I knew Han’s Deli would be open on Christmas.
They are always open! While walking East on the south side of Bleecker back to my studio, I was approached by a man between Mulberry and Mott Streets. He was a Caucasian man, slightly taller than I, with a black haired mustache. He had dark green pants and white sneakers, Nike to be exact. His jacket was quite puffy, unsure of the brand, but it was black, or a really dark shade of midnight blue.
The man approached rather quickly. He didn’t surprise me, because I am well aware of my surroundings. After all, they call me a Bad Ass Mother Fucker. (well, that’s what I call myself when walking the streets of New York City) I saw the man was on the same side of the street as me. I had a plastic bag in one hand, which had some cookies and a Hershey’s chocolate milk in it. (That was my snack.) As we approached each other even closer, that’s when I knew something might happen. It was in my gut I guess.
I’ve always waited for the day for this to happen. It finally did. We walk closer and closer to each other, he going West, I going East. In the final moments in our head on collision, his eyes meet mine and he deliberately pushes his shoulder in mine, causing me to drop the plastic bag and stumble into the wall. He grabs my arm and pushes me against the wall, with his other hand he pulls out a gun from his right front jacket pocket.
Confronted with a gun just blocks from my studio is where I am at 3:30am on Christmas Day. He demands money, with the actual classic phrase “Give me your money!” Although it actually sounded like “Gimme Yoh Money!”
Again, I’ve always waited for this day. I always knew that I would never give up my money for someone. It’s mine. And my theory was always ‘to say no, and if they wanted it, they would have to kill me for it’ I responded with “No.” The man looks puzzled in disbelief, and in that split moment I just took my right hand, brought it up as quickly as possible and knocked that gun right out of his grasp! The gun went flying in the air (more in a sideways motion). I saw the silver piece shine in the street lamp’s light and it hit the wintery concrete side walk. All this happened extremely quickly in a matter of seconds. I seized my opportunity to run. And run I did.
But I discovered something I knew already. Humans can’t out run bullets. As I ran down Bleecker St, only a few yards now away from the man. He fires his gun, probably more out of rage, then out of determination to get my money. I hear a ‘BANG!’ and, which seemed like at the exact same time, a whistle right by my right ear. It must have been a bullet, but I’ll never know. Still running, about to near the next corner, I hear another ‘BANG!’ Only this time, I did not hear the whistle wizz by my ear. This time I felt a bee sting on my shoulder. This whistle sounded different from the previous one.
I then rounded the corner as fast as I could. I hear no footsteps following me and make it to the next corner, breathing heavily. I look back and do not see the man. I take a few slight detours before determining that it would be best for me to get back to my studio as soon as possible.
I arrive back to my studio and find that the bee sting on my shoulder was actually an open wound. The bullet actually grazed my skin! I couldn’t believe it. I’ve actually been shot! That fucker actually shot me! There was a hole in my jacket and my shirt was missing some cloth. And there was a big streak which appeared like a heavy rug burn on my right shoulder!
As I inspect my slight wound some more, I phone 911. I speak to the police and give them details and information. The officers arrive in full force, I must say! EMS, the Fire Department, NYPD, all converged within a matter of minutes on my block and front door. It’s about 3:40am now. In my studio there is about 10 Emergency workers. Attending to my slight wounds, but many asking me questions.
As they clean up my shoulder and the cops continue to ask me questions, over the radio we are notified they picked up the man which fit the description I gave earlier! Of course, this was now about 4am. The man was found on 2nd Ave near 5th street. A few blocks East and North of our location.
It is now 6am when I write this. I went to the Precinct to identify the man, fill out paperwork, and file charges. In the meantime, the NYPD told me that the guy will be put away for a while. Especially since they had evidence and an eye witness.
Now I’m going to bed because I have a lot to do today.
I might go back to the Soup Kitchen to feed the homeless,
as I had such a wonderful experience doing that yesterday.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.12.25.05:56:22@296NYC
Kitchen Mixing
I made the mix in the kitchen
Got out the milk
Got out the cocoa
Got out the blender
I made the shake
I ate the pear
She ate the banana
Cherry Pie delivered
She brought the apple cider
Flames up the side
I count, one, two, three
Women here, no one free
But me
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.12.19.03:18:28@296NYC
Love (Version #15)
You told me to wait.
You told me not to look.
You told me it did not exist.
I always believe it did.
And today, I discovered it does!
And you can’t have any.
It’s right here.
I cradle it in my hands.
I cradle love in my hands.
Love.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.12.18.23:04:13 296 New York City
Dear Ms. Copyright #2
Dear Ms. Copyright,
I received your letter in response to the previous acceptance. Unfortunately, we cannot fully accommodate your needs and/or requests. You have not pre-determined your Act in which we would need to comply with. We are unaware, at this time, of such an Act which engages the reasonings of one, two, or three, in or during the proposal. I apologize in advance but the Nevada lay cannot occur due to the following reason. I am happy to inform you that your prize package has changed to include a trip to London and a visit from Jack the Ripper!
We encourage you to quickly return to the home of your choice, we will then award you with the fabulous prize of, once again, Exchange Material Overhaul. We hope you enjoy your gifts and prizes.
Should you have any questions, feel free to contact us.
Sincerely,
Surprise Surprise Department
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.11.23.18:21:08 @ 296 New York City
My Lover’s Unique Ass
My Lover
Has a very unique ass
Too bad
You’ll never see it.
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.11.19.22:10:00@Spring&ElizabethNYC
Crawl
slowly
uncovering
I approach steadily
with my eyes squinting in the dark light
with my nose downwards, sniffing the night air
my hands in front of me
my legs below me
laying horizontally
I slowly crawl across
approach with precise caution
my smooth hands touch the sides
gliding towards
I get closer and closer
crawling nearer
my eyes speaking
my tongue licking my lips
about to divulge in my prey
my feet and calf muscles push me in closer
my elbows dig a deeper brace among the surroundings
my fingers know the direction
the scent is stronger than ever
I feel the heat coming
not even exhausting
but surely, pulsating
even towards me
finally, my head is near
my mouth opens
my tongue extends outwards
and with beautiful strokes and touches
I lick your pussy
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.10.30.17:57:34@1515NYC
Art Slave
I’m pulled around, fucked with
I’m not driven around in black cars
I’m not escorted by the runway models
I’m not high enough or in demand
I’m not shoved from occupation to occupation
I’m not understood, I don’t look to be understood
I’m not accepted, I’m not supported
© 2002 David Greg Harth
02.10.30.24:44:00@296NYC