scaoil amach é
Siobhán de Paor
file, máthar, scríobhneoir, rinceoir, trodaí
if fools become famous and the wise stay hidden, is there space for the brave in this game of chicken? who is faking and who can feel the deeper aching when life gets real? Now there are impersonations of Revelations and on the way to the Cross there are petrol stations. Pretenders to the crown happy to dumb down and woo the dimwits, saddled and blinkered, lured with trinkets. Teeth and a tan, make a fist of it or a ham and if you don't see the sham, then your one of the lambs, to the slaughter, the price your hind quarter. Have a heart, its worth more than a pound of flesh.
Máthar ag an Doras
The time it takes to get out the door...