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the poetry of Charles Fry

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9 May 1995

Here's one for ya.
There are these two guys
named Friends
who always talk and play.
Until the one disconnects his phone
and drops the L to make it pay.
So the other turns elsewhere for elsewho
and slowly rebuilds.
But then his heart breaks
and as he lies dying his first friend comes
to give him a broken telephone
and a tangle of surgical tape.
He takes it and says 'Hey thanks man'
as he wraps the tape around his chest
and puts the phone under his head for a pillow.

 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