SECTION FIVE
POETRY PAGE ONE

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COLUMN 102, FEBRUARY 1, 2004
(Copyright 2004 The Blacklisted Journalist)


(Photo by Myles Aronowitz)
( Myles Aronowitz)

PREFACE TO A TWENTY VOLUME SUICIDE NOTE

(For Kellie Jones, born 16 May 1959)

Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
On 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.  

March 1957 ##

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