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from Fractured Burps (in Progress)

Marchmont Street Soaps


via hand signals outside the window

sucking the tips of impertinent fingers

you get A to B


I have a big appetite for love

sleeping on the floor on the sofa

a number of fixed positions

he was just complaints


what am I?

she got Spanish two months ago

when she was born

I turned it down

what can I pour THIS into?

silver flashes

the flapping bellies of fishes

no more Eng Lit Krits

lookin to find your click thing

women do it more

you can use your imagination

obviously wanting to get the money from IT

three years

I can’t afford IT but I can write IT down

ahhh shucks

beer and the good stew in the gardens

gum brothers vitch vitch

what do You want from ME?

short shorts in Russell Square

let’s get rich IN SPIRIT


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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…