Sent as a gift.

Death is a beautiful car parked only
to be stolen on a street lined with trees
whose branches are like the intestines
     of an emerald.
You hotwire death, get in, and drive away
like a flag made from a thousand burning
     funeral parlors. 

You have stolen death because you’re bored.
There’s nothing good playing at the movies
     in San Francisco. 

You joyride around for a while listening
to the radio, and then abandon death, walk
away, and leave death for the police
     to find.

—Brautigan, via Signer

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