dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
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That in itself would offer a brief insight into the matter: the trouble with Time spent on writing continuously separate from money. We were exhausted, perhaps even exhausting each other trying to figure out how to live, live, as poet & wife, both curses, which Creeley linked with death. Where to find a roof, four walls, & a few windows in this day & age, when one percent of the population owns most of this crude, architecturally crass, second-home-strewn culture? Not a lot to ask: an affordable rent where we don’t have to fear rodents & rapists! But no, exhausted, & in bed early. Later, the moon hung in the sky for the second straight night, red & yellow, & clear at 11:43 calling on me to pay attention. I got up. Paid homage with attention. Binoculars revealed the lip of a giant crater jutting out at the bottom of the crescent catching light from the sun’s rays, saying, “Risk & metamorphosis.”



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