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

3 January 1995

my plastic house

i look around at my plastic house
with its plastic windows and plastic doors
and plastic shelves and plastic beds
and plastic light and plastic dust
and even an aging plastic stain on the ceiling

then i realize that it is all superficial
and some how unreal
and in my anger i open my plastic box
and remove a metal hammer
and shout brave threats at the empty walls

but as the echo returns
in its pitiful nothingness
i pause and realize that this is all i have
and if it is destroyed . . .

as my eyes gaze down at the floor
a crack appears and grows
and starts reducing my plastic house
to a pile of earthquake rubbage

 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