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Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note


Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus...


Things have come to that.


And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.


Nobody sings anymore.


And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter's room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there...
Only she on her knees, peeking into


Her own clasped hands

Written by Amiri Baraka (1934-2014)

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