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In Progress

In This World We Do Mutt
(for Joseph Ceravolo)
my doll is firm aboriginal blubber
from this bottle we did drink
pull up the blanket
affection rides home
mother is windy
built on 
the body is coming
these knees are a spongy breeze
in Seattle we did chow on clams
look at this saint’s hat
for whom the bell gloats
birds float
it is white foam
when will my gluckenspiel
run dry
like a toothpick
among the shaken
my son leaps the carribou
I have no carribou
this is a rehearsal for Zen music
it worked very well
now it is past use
my girlchild 
there is no snake
tell us where to eat
the wind tattles
all done?
smells like fish
o yeah
rice spring
rice spring


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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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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…