frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

post

2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

sundance

1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

6 November 1994

friend (and, by now, even brother)

the telegram came and I opened it with shaky hands
unsure of what monumental news merited such communication

Come. I am dying.

were the only words inscribed on the small piece of paper
gathering my coat and filling its pockets I set off
over the snowy mountain

after three strenuous days I arrived
from the journey that usually took five
and numbed from the air I entered his house
and collapsed by his bed and took his hand in mine

his eyes opened and his head slowly turned
behind his pain dead face I felt a feeble tremor of joy
as his lips parted and spoke

I knew you would come.

then in patient relief they closed with him


my telegram written but laid to wait on the table replied

So am I.

 Here's one for ya.   go find yourself.   late again   skys passing wave raining clouds and offer healing sun   où es-tu   dim Mornings in the underground   memories   squirming on the bath room ceiling   open   the faces on the side walk pass me by   life and living   Song of Peace   from Time   the Mountain   My Father   so i painted a red cross on my chest   my living eulogy   my plastic house   alone again   frustrating   the Song of my heart as it grows and changes   In Dark Brick Dungeons   clanteba mortillia   Lonely is   my call to this Omnipotent generation:   friend (and, by now, even brother)   my PCC   Our Garden   Cognoscente   The Home   careFree   the Children   full moon   if I were a Painter   For You   Caterpillar March   Prison   As I Went Walking   Norwegian Cockatrice Lampposts   Departure   or   The Falling Apple   Peace