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in progress . . . . .

There is a special insomnia
in this hall of lizards
I've allocated
a minddump on
two tonic
when my head falls
off someone
will turn
perhaps this will lead
to some small discovery
I love small nose

I love small
nose piercings
this is your own
this is making my head

this is goofier than
the bland
American grain
that fills my clunky
presently I am
my marbles
that hurt
we've left YOU
to dry out
in the morning sun
this doesn't do
me any good

the response
is to break
into a radical force
today I paint
with the whispers

that ended
the Roman empire


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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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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…