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Frank Died Last Night

He was “just” a friend…an eccentric friend…but a good friend with heart. For years he spent $70 a month living here. He sat at the same table in the same coffee shop in the Zocalo every single day with one cup of coffee…then moving in front of the cathedral to play chess with the best players around. If I was ever lonely or wanted company I knew he would be there.

This is a poem he gave to another friend a year ago around his birthday on September 23rd. He knew.

so wonderful the decline
how sweet the lowering
crumbling asundering

ebbing delightfull
sliding toward stilness
unrevelling simply
secretly tumbling
fading along down
reaching under
slipping ever



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