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spanish fork continued

30th Dec 2009


a cowboy
dazzled me
with his
belt buckle
as I blew
his snow
in the television
glow
i’ve
squandered
nothing
and
get on
down
with the
years
you are
very large
very large
and full of air
I’m most sane
when charged
& full of
pops and bleeps
with a steady
backbeat
get on with it
toss my top
these jailers
play the price
play the fetish
in the suburbs
we’re getting
dicey

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Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
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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…