frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

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2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

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1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

6 December 1996

this record is for You

I think that I'd rather forgotten
what it felt like to have gentle fingers touching my heart --
or even to have some one stand close to me for that matter.
I had started to think that I was the only creation,
Unconsciously pretending to be some thing so much not human.
With a small mechanical attachment in my back
where I could put in the crank and turn my self.

One day I turned off all of the lights in the house.
And all of the heat also, and I closed the blinds.
I lay down in the middle of my bedroom floor.
It got very cold.
Too cold.

"I'm not a machine, I'm a man."
"I'm not an animal, I'm a man."
"You are not a man, you are a god."

It is very difficult to learn how to speak again.
It is very difficult to learn how to live again.
Some where I have the impression that
I am living on borrowed time.
That you were sent just to teach me -- to awaken me.

I think that I rather like
what it feels like to have gentle fingers touching my heart --
or even to have some one standing close to me for that matter.

 forgotten memories   of being burned at the stake   sweet dreams   sharing   hand-in-hand   the stranger   hidden courtyards   holding You   princess   happy day   loneliness   fragile, handle with care   my small trip to the cement factory   dedication   this record is for You   the day that I cried   Last night I woke up under my bed.   my silver Dancing shoes   Man my heart tears.   the three things   strait jackeght   like you   abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz   Fire cooks me   Princess Alexandra:  A Little Story   cats up cat twice   sweet rain water   little children   my heart   How blind I am in wooden glasses.   I know she's crying cause it stains her voice,   Dear Family,   I pound at my heart   We run away from the ice cream truck   purple sunset   J. Elephant   so i walk up to you with this   the Soul queen   so, you say that i do not speak   window   dear sweet old Ordinary   i am a Harp