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This poem is taken from PN Review 85, Volume 18 Number 5, May - June 1992.

Three Poems P.J. Kavanagh


Should a man catch a glimpse of the feet of the
That exist beyond eyeshot, he knows he must follow,
   and songs
Swirl in him, soundless, because he wearily knows,
Or is told, that his times mistrust brightnesses,
Deconstruction, and clamp his tongue in tongs.
But he moves in the draught of their movement -
   the feet
Grow into logic, with ankles and shins and kneecaps
And faces above - though he never dares to lift up
   his eyes.

Such a man cannot, an old-fashioned music hall vent.
With his dummy, choose only pronounceable phrases
Consonant with his times, or allow them to work its

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