KIRBY WRIGHT : Purple Summer
WARD KELLEY : Consoles Us Dying Ones
CAROLE NELSON PHILLIPS : another dead cow
POETRYREPAIRS v13.04:045
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Purple Summer Consoles Us Dying Ones another dead cow


KIRBY WRIGHT
Purple Summer
If you examine my hair, you'll discover the black is tinged purple. Yes, I use cheap products. I sit at a park where girls in white skirts stroll by and dogs dream under palms by the sea. I'm a fraud—pretending youth in the Land of the Young here at a tiny cove in La Jolla. If I was to get lucky with one of the white skirts (perhaps she has vanilla hair), it wouldn't last long. My cock bends like a dying rose. Ankles swell easily. An eye blinks sporadically. Miss Vanilla Hair sees purple at sunset and goes, “Liar, you're older than my father.”
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04:045
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
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George Inness (1825-1894), American landscape painter, was largely responsible for introducing the French Barbizon style in the United States. His son reported his father died viewing a particularly exquisite sunset; though weakened from his final illness, Inness threw his hands in the air while exclaiming, "My God! Ah, how beautiful!" then fell to the ground, dead. - Ward Kelley

Purple Summer Consoles Us Dying Ones another dead cow


WARD KELLEY
Consoles Us Dying Ones
Death does not come humble, it arises like a lion, unsettles the air like a condor, springs from the oceans as purposeful as a dolphin cutting the horizon. You should not lay in fear, you, the receptor of this final expression of the breathing; Death does not come forward to humble you, it arises, an animal, to transfer you on and on. Humble is not the stance to take in front of this creature of hope, and it is only a lack of understanding that keeps you from mounting the back of this graceful, forgiving, beast.
from histories of souls copyright 2003 WARD KELLEY
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Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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Purple Summer Consoles Us Dying Ones another dead cow


CAROLE NELSON PHILLIPS
another dead cow 
sometimes in this sunken village a gunshot bounces off the forearm hip, of surrounding mountains I'll think of wild dogs or a bloated cow rigid in a red ditch matted hair yellow grasses icy wind but lately I've thought of you tight flesh over expanded seed balanced on the edge of a black crevasse
POETRYREPAIRS 13.04: 045
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KIRBY WRIGHT : Purple Summer
WARD KELLEY : Consoles Us Dying Ones
CAROLE NELSON PHILLIPS : another dead cow

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