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Eucharist






"There weren’t enough gumdrops in the shop to feed the dopamine and keep him to me. My blue-suited brother had gotten wise and hid our mother’s loot on his token visit home. So when the need jerked Andrew stupid, and he got rabbit in his blood, I said, How about you hold onto me and shoot your load on my ass? If you want."

CHECK OUT THE RAD STORY BY DANI SANDAL OVER HERE AT PANK:

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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…