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.
*
Hello Friends —
Disclaimer: The manager of this poem-a-day list shall not be held liable for
any carjackings or other illicit actions arising from the reading of this or
any other (untitled) poem from Richard Brautigan's The Pill Versus the
Springhill Mine Disaster (1968).
April is National Poetry Month, and I am celebrating by emailing out my own
eclectic selection of one poem per day for the duration of the month. If you
wish to be unsubscribed from this Poem-a-Day email list at any time, please
reply to this email with a friendly unsubscribe request (preferably in heroic
couplet form). You may also request to add a consenting friend to the list, or
even nominate a poem.
To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more
official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.
Enjoy.
Ellen
Labels: NPM