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another draft from the new manuscript

Prodigal Drift

art reshuffles
out of date subjectivity
hello mother

an ode to milk
ovelteen on a wet Tuesday
post prandial nose-dive
in the minced stew

2nd train to London £26
£240 for box room
Seven Sisters not ideal

pajamahoods:
neighbor bangs
broom against floor
for loud bed-fucks

lets tell it and get screwed in the words squirts

yr chicken is ready in the clashing neons of milky South Ealing

the frozen ones and the bater’s in the crème bit
an aqua splash in yr yogurt

and the babies really sitting forward with their whole mouths
on the tit trumpets

breaded the sunshine
really posh early-up
mercurial visual ears

you gotta understand the lapid maze
you can hear it on the radio
pick it up operatically
hot/cold with critical speculation
throw back the sacred vows of misery
word stage of old holy
place has its hands on the lost

to take a different direction
to the prim residuals
of Victorian England

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This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).


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.

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…