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more godzeenie

The paint is very wet on these. I'm always in progress. These poems will change and mutate no doubt.


Old horse with new
bucket, Hermes in a real
duel with Apollo, I’m gaining
weight, strip the scales, got no bal-
ance, immense rage & fleet
on foot, I strap on my Zbigniew
Herbert, let the bands pass, hour by
hour dedicated to this in-
visible world, another pulled
neck & dust fills my flat.


in the beginning there were answers
I bedded-down for ten years &
bent the bow & my ill-proportioned
executions left me sticky
with poisoned chastity &
under the navel floor
my effigy was the ding an sich
stuck behind the eternal
stink with my washcloth
and wrinkled brow


I am a dried up song at the bottom of the sea where weddings are rehearsed and never completed and I’m stuck with judgements and a mind/body split and I wanna keep the rock moving & reject all else but the lowest but it’s all a one-sided game with justice and desire hanging over my head groping for gestures with wrong-headed lambs bleeting round my house and rose-cheeked fragments side-stepping in their swanky linen blouses drawing too many smiles so I took the black and red ink of the ego and shoved it up my ass and the significance of imaginary friends dissipated into the gloss of what’s lost


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Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

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