Untitled (Devil Love)
For hours,
My arms hug your warmth.
I will kiss you forever upon sight.
Forever and ever.
It will last.
Never let go.
Please be real.
Oh, please do.
I am your angel.
But I could be your devil.
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.23:45:00@31USQWNYC
Untitled (Places Taken)
I will take you to the park.
the forest.
the desert.
the beach.
the ocean
the sea.
the lake.
the hill.
the mountain.
the city.
the valley.
the plain.
the field.
the pond.
the creek.
the brook.
the rock.
the town.
I will take you in the bakery
Or in the movies
At home
Or in the office
I will take you on a plane
Or on a train
At a ball game
Or at a Broadway show
I will take you in car
Or in a bed
At a nature park
Or at a hotel.
I will take you near and far.
Here and there.
I will take you up and down.
East and West
I will take you to black and white
To see colors all over.
Over and over, I will take you.
More in my mind.
None in the flesh.
Yet.
Yet to be seen....
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.23:30:00@31USQWNYC
Untitled (America 3rd)
Complication
Invitation
Revolution
Imagination
Motivation
Impregnation
Juxtaposition
Location
Separation
Dislocation
Verification
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.12:15:00@31USQWNYC
Untitled (Waiting For You)
I will wait for you.
If you are my dream.
I will be yours.
If you are a figment.
I will let the love go, but not you.
I searched, I waited, for you.
Are you real?
Are you mine?
Why so far, yet so close?
Why do we meet?
Who gave us permission?
I am your angel, an angel from hell.
I come to take you to heaven.
Forever and ever, we will live.
In white lace I embrace your smooth body.
I take you, caress you always.
I have wanted you for the longest time.
Where have you been?
Ties will be broken.
I will not keep my hopes open.
I have been hurt.
I am sure you have too.
I will not be hurt.
I am your angel.
I will wait.
Send me your love.
Prove your existence.
Dance with the devil in the moonlight.
Dance with me under the stars tonight.
Dance with the animals, hum with the birds.
Suck like the insects, read like the mammals.
Eat list like the fish, love like the doves.
Wake up on a bed of roses.
I grew each one for you.
Selected and picked.
I took the thorns off for you.
So, your fingers would not bleed.
I love your tight ass,
may I feel it?
touch it?
caress it?
The darkness will always prevail.
I wish I knew you in the flesh.
Till then, my mind will make do.
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.05:05:00@31USQWNYC
Untitled (Souls)
I turn you around
Kiss on the cheek
Kiss on the parting lips
On the nose
On the eyebrow
The water runs down
Between our bodies
Between our souls
Cold or warm
It runs between our curves
Into our insides
Into our hearts
Around the forms
Beneath the wonders
I insert my tongue
Your lips part
I feel your heart
Beating with my pulse
I ignite a flame
Too much to comprehend
The sun is going down
I hug you dearly
Forever and ever
The day went by
Over and over
We spent it in water
We walked to an ocean
While motionless
And did not leave our location
Only our minds
Our hearts.
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.02:15:00@31USQWNYC
Untitled (Strict Poem)
I shackle you to a bed post.
I pulse an image
in front of your eyes.
I show you a complex for your thought.
I take from the kitchen sweet desserts.
I eat my desserts with you...
on the bed...
you in shackles,
I in black.
© 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.01:30:00@31USQWNYC
0-72457 AUXILIARY
Nancy Rubins must be laughing
Her viewers explore and walk around her.
Looks of shock, disgust, and confusion are written on their faces.
Some get close, some do not.
Some talk, some do not.
Is it right? Or is it wrong? They argue.
Is it art? Or is it junk? They continue.
Open mouthed viewers look at Rubins’ detail.
Close up, or far away.
No viewers interfere with other viewers or Rubins.
They stand alone, or they stand with others.
They do not take up your room, or my room.
Some point, some tilt their heads, some read.
The guard wipes his sweat off.
Couples go on.
0-72457 Auxiliary.
Rubins’ old jet.
Rubins’ old crap.
Rubins’ space on the first floor of MOMA.
Rubin is in my room.
I am in Rubins’ room.
Her viewers are in her room.
The guard wipes his sweat off.
No one touches.
No one speaks aloud.
Discussions and arguments can be heard.
I am sure Rubins is laughing.
Rubins has no sweat, just bread.
The guard is hungry; he sweats.
Tourists, students, professionals, observers.
All of them are present, but none interfere.
Quietness.
Dirt in the metal do not make a sound.
I can hear the echo of flight.
No one here is flying.
Only the guard sweats.
We all stand to look.
I am sure we all wonder why we cannot sit.
Why can’t we touch?
Why can’t we talk aloud?
I am sure we obey the rules of the current society.
I am sure we question them.
Rubins’ art questions them.
The guard does not.
New viewers roll in.
New viewers follow the old viewers’ patterns.
The guard is still sweating.
I wish I could meet the “First Officer.”
Does anyone else fly?
Spring 1995
© David Greg Harth 1995
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
How To Survive A Hospital Stay
First of all, do not eat the food
Ignore the doctors
For they are our friends,
but do not trust them.
Think about throwing the little crying children out of the window
And gaze into your surroundings
at the streets below and sky above
Play games, like name as many words that start with the letter “L.”
Lollipops
And laughing lions
Large lamps
or lightning linear lines
While in the bathroom, count the ceramic tiles
Drink all the apple juice
And fill the rubber gloves with water,
Yes now we have RGWB’S, no not a disease,
but a Rubber Glove Water Balloon.
When done with the first lesson,
now turn on the foreign TV station,
and make believe you enjoy the music
Then call another patient’s room and annoy them
After that, of course, move your bed up and down, until it breaks
Then press the button for the nurse,
When she comes, “Oh, sorry, I just wanted to know if it worked.”
Last but not least, sit by the window and look as the scene
The cops nailed another one
The truck delivered it’s bandaids
The Mercedes and Jags, and Lexuses and BMWs all roll in
The people flirting
and the bum drinking
Then you glance up, see your reflection in the glass
and then you realize and say, “Why God, why me?”
© 1992 David Greg Harth
92.05.02.22:00:00@NewCityNY
Fall
Fall means many things to me.
Outside there are lots of things to see.
The changing color of the beautiful leaves
Swaying in the sudden gentle breeze.
The squirrels are gathering their acorns
near and far.
For they know winter is coming like a
shooting star.
© 1985 David Greg Harth
85.10.28.00:00:00@SpringValleyNY