We found a thousand hollow shells left scattered
Among the rocky, kelp-strewn teeth of shore:
Some of the seeping, tight-lipped hunks were shattered,
Tossed up by chance and left as dried decor
For tourists like myself to stow away
In pockets, as a keep-sake...
The train runs, carrying her amongst her things,
A bag upon her lap like some dull child
To whom her pale but red-ringed throat never sings.
All songs forgot, as she grows clenched and riled.
Her hand, all nerves, combs over a blond case
Let me tell you about a bullet
And a body.
A Sunday Mass
Tolled its loud bells
While we all stood
And broken glass
Crunched like old shells
Through the neighborhood,
Where a mural presents
What’s come to pass:
Masked men, spent shells,
In a field of...
We scrambled up the craterous outcrop
That ruptured like an isle among gray sands
Spread thin around Cill Éinne Bay. A sop
Of drying kelp lay tangled in red strands,
Half-covering a shallow pool, inside
Which a few trapped snails slinked till the...
I stood atop Slane Hill
Where Patrick’s fire burned
And chapel floors now fill
With cold rain. Each cracked grave
About has risen with
The dead. And tourists, turned
On knotted, brazen lists
Of all the “weak or brave,”
In any case, those lost
Beneath the winning...
American Beauty Exhibition, National Gallery, Dublin
The wounded anger in your eyes, last night,
Seemed for the first time and, perhaps, the last,
To cut through every screen of charm, and sight
In me the innards of a sordid past.
“For too long...