belle2007–2002 |
dada2002–1999 |
sundance1999–1997 |
frere1997–1995 |
julian1995–1994 |
stone1994–1993 |
20 March 1995
squirming on the bath room ceiling
-- a dying squid --
left over from a failed Biology experiment.
Every one close your eyes
and fain oblivion;
if you don't acknowledge it it
doesn't exist.
(the rotting smell descends
and pours out the window,
filling the gutter and
clogging the sidewalks.)
but no one is screaming yet --
only warily choking.
one day some carpet
bagger will look inside
and wonder why it is
that no one is ever seen moving.
The Plague a young man whispers.
The Plague got em.
so he opens his bag on the
spot and unloads two black bulldozers
(which even now are trying
to clean up the carnage).
Copyright © 1995 Charles Fry
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