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Untitled

By Wil C. Fry, 1990.02

Copyright © 1990 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.

Home > Poetry Index > 1990 > Untitled

who ReAlLy careS? I doN’t.

iT coUld bE thAt thE tumor in yoUr brain IS SWELLING.
Do yOU think sO?

I neVer hAd A tumor i•n m•y brAin.

you do, you know. A very big 1.

wHaT a BuMmEr, dude.

I knowwwwwwwwww.... and iT could be•
very VERY VERY bAd for U.

well, iTT miTe Bee pHun 2 dye.

MeThinx the Tumor is aFFeCtiNg youR Spellin.

ProbLy, ButT wHoM caireS?
“knot eYe,” said tHe PuRple fLYe.
(I amM thu PuRple flYe.) HO! HO! HA! HA!

wEll, i tHinK i wiLl gO pRepArE your coFFin...

WHut! Whom’s coFFin? I’m knOt coFFin.
Eye don’tT eavin hAv ay KoaldD.!.!.!!

U looK liek U R N a miRRoR.

KnO. U R. You arE iN A mirror. KnoT Me.

|||||||| MaybE we are bOtH N the mirroR.! ||||||||

YES, U R RITE. WE couLD bea SKITZOs, liVing inside one UV USS.

Bye Gullee, I thinkk weave gott it!




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