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What happened to those lovely trousers (rough draft)

a monster haunts us
with cut-resistant ballistic pads
carefully cut and sewn
with curves in mind

bright yellow
in the morning courtyard
old tyre caked against shed
and cooling trousers
on the white picket fence

someone has stolen
the pasta machine
hot potato wet tomato
if you hear what your body says then put yr mind
in the de-facto crunch machine

punch out the eyes punch out the eyes

we will not use old memory cards

between foxes and tragedies lies human emotions feeding on chickens
outcrop with empty car
wading into lake with caked bum
caught with trousers down
only permitted the full-on


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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.
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By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…