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	<title>The Beat &#187; Paul Kavanagh</title>
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	<link>http://the-beat.co.uk</link>
	<description>A poetry, short story and art showcase.</description>
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		<title>teeth</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/teeth/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/teeth/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 12 Jan 2009 18:07:43 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Kavanagh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Bad teeth, broken teeth, cracked teeth
Here is a modern poem about teeth
Teeth that are decayed, teeth that are missing
Pound wrote a poem about an old bitch gone
In the teeth.
And he was not the only one
Eliot?s Lil was missing all of her teeth.
Teeth has symbols, teeth has metaphors,
Yellow teeth, black teeth, but no white teeth,
This is [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Thieves</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/thieves/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/thieves/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 29 Oct 2007 09:32:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Kavanagh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Dispatching for pennies.
                                                
Two children walking sleepily sauntered by dragging their bags behind; the child nearest wiped his nose upon his sleeve.
“The dirty bastard,” said Harold disdainfully.
“I’m dead to the world.”
“When we get hold of that bugger I hope your bones will operate,” said Harold.
“What time is it?”
“Time, time, time, what have you to bother about [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Street life</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/street-life/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/street-life/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 23 Feb 2007 08:52:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Kavanagh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[I thought my childhood normal
Until I saw a kid insert a straw
Into a toad’s arse and blow
I had inserted the straw and sucked
After awhile the insides didn’t taste that bad
Tasted much better than kidneys and liver.
 
The best fuck I saw was a bloke off the Street
He pulled my sister at the local disco
I stared in [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
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		<title>Tourist</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/tourist/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/tourist/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 04 Oct 2006 07:41:06 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Kavanagh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Featured]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[We had escaped Malta. We had heard that Gozo was almost still. We were still plagued with the hangover from Paris. We had experienced those petite kisses, we had tried to share those romantic moments. But the price of drinks left us cantankerous and pugnacious. We had stood before the black marble of Proust and [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
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		<title>pipe</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/pipe/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/pipe/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 10 Aug 2006 14:50:17 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Kavanagh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Bank Street                                                    
                                                           
Steelworks picked up the whiskey bottle and poured herself a drink. The whiskey was cheep and bitter. She couldn’t see the kids, but she could hear them. They were fighting. Steelworks sighed and finished the whiskey and poured herself another drink. This time she poured the whiskey until the liquid cascaded over the circumference. [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Comp</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/comp/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/comp/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 13 Mar 2006 17:28:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Kavanagh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[You’ve got to be careful not to tell lies but now and again you can’t help but tell lies. Lies are like chocolate cookies you have one and you tell yourself that one is enough but suddenly you find your hand in the cookie jar. Anyway Louie Bellows was running from the police. I don’t [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
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		<title>Tealeaf</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/tealeaf/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/tealeaf/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 06 Feb 2006 18:24:40 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Kavanagh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[I’m walking home and it’s raining. And the rain gets me thinking about how life’s so short. You fart in your mother’s hand and then you give up the ghost. It’s that quick. So the rain is coming down and it’s dark and there’s a slight wind picking up. This is the norm, I don’t [...]]]></description>
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