I was asked today, by a child today--
I was asked to abstain from thoughts of suicide.
You're a writer you're a writer...don't be like Hemingway
Or like Plath. Blown or fried or gassed, or any other way
I can become dead fast.
Don't worry, don't worry.
Ok ok, she said. I believe you Mr. Chris.
And I said, may I have your permission to start class?--
I have some more I want you to do before I can contemplate
pushing up the grass.
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