Deep…. Amidst the granules of lithosphere…. Teak….. a body meek and brown unravels…… crumbles into karma strata…… unleashes liver enzymes and soul…….

Crack…. Across the writer’s life face worn….. Wrinkles deepened with poverty and bourbon…….. a soul wanton….. to be broken……….. releases and spills….. seeps to creep across a hardwood floor….

Slam….. The telephone at hand…. Green before his face……. fingers curled clenched about a smooth verdict…… face across Bolinas bluff…… face…. his reflection layed out…. over plate of window……. waves …..rolling their romantic taunting tide below…… wait slowly in milleniel stew for a whiff of his leaving soon…..

Salt…. Ions in his blood and tears……. meet softly swirling sulfur nitrate…. burns sweetly through the mind that he was born with…..grown moribund from years…….

And then……. as gentle as piano keys played delicate….. his fingers fall….. tension gone…… and Brautigan is legend…….

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