Brian Purdy Biography

A poem is admission
Of confusion
And being what it is
Excites derision;
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Forty years I trudged
And had no answers;
A mind that was at sea
And heart unanchored.
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Fewer creeks
blacker starlings
fewer home-made killing-jars
...

On tin-can creek
where I stayed long
the woodsy mist
made up for wrongs
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You slugs, you sloths, you worse
Than insensible things,
Who will not do as is so
Urgently needed - how
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