Tuesday
28Jul2009
And now, each night I count the stars. And each night I get the same number *
Tuesday, July 28, 2009 at 1:34PM 
*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
-Amiri Baraka
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Reader Comments (1)
a few nights ago I dreamt that I sat across from him in a dive booth. We talked about Jazz and Baseball.