I AM THIRSTY

and because I am thirsty I need to drink before I can continue blowing your mind. The knowledge you once had about your own imagination required an alarm system with a direct line to the police. The peach you’re eating is so sweet, no wonder it’s occupied by bees, you tell yourself. We step in unison ever further off the beaten path to the foot of a wider tree. Do not overestimate your personal allowance for happiness nor underestimate your personal allowance to be forgiven by the spirit passing through the leaves. When you were passed over for promotion to chief elocution officer of our soldier caste, you joined a new militia, only to find them threatening electrocution for the absence of Ts and Cs. Who wouldn’t fall into a dramatic funk? We aim to rise above our bodies and the contortions we put them through when we made-out in the broom closet at the end-of-the-year seasonal party. A radical shift is required to understand what it means to gain exposure to a new demographic of playfulness and power. You’d think occupying your own mind would be easy, but it’s nothing to write home about. There’s nothing in your mind about home – to write about nothing – this home – mind about.

 

I AM NOT WORTHY OF THE LEAST OF ALL MERCIES

 

and because I am not worthy of the least of all mercies, I can sense someone taking me by the shoulder, kissing my head, playfully batting my eye. The midnight sun appears when the clouds disperse to the hoots of owls and my memory of charging a bikini wax to the company before opening night. An Italian ice was later bought for me by the nicest guy, who taught me there’s no reason not to spend it like you’re gonna lose it, anyway. Because, anyway… All good things are eventually punctuated in this city by scaffolding going up or coming down: clanging poles, heavy joints dropped to shatter the transparency of windshields. The stained-glass windows of this worshipful house across the street bleeds blue light at our feet. The last thing you should ever do, I was told before being torn asunder, is interrupt the reverie – unless you’re the reverie.

 

A DYNAMIC EXCHANGE BETWEEN US

 

There’s a dynamic exchange happening between us. We could surf pure existence on the back of our Likes, or just skip it for a pop-up party on Facebook at a house that looks just like yours in the suburbs. All my life, I’d been hoping for a religious experience starring you as the silhouette next door, but now we’re both unframed and window-less and running sans underwear across the front lawn. There’s a spark inside that sets alight the topiary that’s been clipped in the shape of our genitalia. To the police we explain life and death is happening all around us, incoming but similarly external, which is why we burn when we pee on the peeing garden statue. My beer is my beer, one gate-crasher says to another, which leads to another gate-crasher crashing through the front gate. We’re just trying to satisfy the regulative ideal that comes when the fire in our soul rages beyond the water games spouted from the nipples of nymphs. This loftiness of being is beyond beyond. Verily, verily, someone shouts out an upstairs window. In your parents’ bedroom, a pair of legs are opening like language.


BECAUSE I AM TO YOU A MESSENGER WORTHY OF ALL TRUST…

 

trust me to send this lukewarm chowder back to the kitchen. This think-tank we’re in believes the world nigh – and yet we’ve just released data concerning the beginning of time. Allow me this moment to be dubious: Is this a date? Are you trying to kill me? Are you trying to kiss me? The pillow you carry in your handbag is packed with lipstick and punches. And now that you’re punching me, really punching me, our place in the world is finally coming into focus. Our grappling under the table leads me to invite you back to my apartment – pigments interspersed at the tops of trees, the roofs of our heads camouflaged in the clouds. Though the valet points our way home, the threat of a cop with a breathalyser means we should take a cab. But we were only having mint tea. And I am only a cousin of the Maharaja. And you are only a cousin of the Maharani.


anthonyAnthony Caleshu’s 4th book of poems,  A Dynamic Exchange between Us, will be published by Shearsman in Spring 2019. He is Professor of Poetry at University of Plymouth where he is head of MA Creative Writing and founding editor of Periplum, a small press dedicated to publishing poetry in broadsides, pamphlets, and books, as well as digital interviews of poets in conversation (www.plymouth.ac.uk/periplum).

 

 

October 10, 2018
Peach Animal The Bees Macro Insect Nature

Poetry by Anthony Caleshu

  I AM THIRSTY and because I am thirsty I need to drink before I can continue blowing your mind. The knowledge you once had about your own imagination required an alarm system with a direct line to the police. The peach you’re eating is so sweet, no wonder it’s […]
October 8, 2018
Sheet-music Piano Stool Piano Oak Flooring

When the Universe Listens by Alison Theresa Gibson

Short Fiction by Alison Theresa Gibson
October 5, 2018
white-wine

The Last Lunch by Jude Cook

Short Fiction by Jude Cook
October 2, 2018
7175331883_80d3ebae45_z

Why are We Free?

Managing Editor of MIROnline, Melanie Jones, discusses why we are free.
October 1, 2018
dream_clips

Dream Clips of the Archons by Paul Green

Opening sequences from an evolving narrative by  Paul Green
September 28, 2018
patientxpatienty

Patient X and Patient Y by John O’Donoghue

A Case Study by  John O’Donoghue
September 26, 2018
launch-fi

MIR15 Launch Party Photos

MIR15 is out in the world! Buy your copy here! We had a great time at the launch and hope you did too.
September 24, 2018
head-of-the-end-of-the-world

The Head of the End of the World by Melaina Barnes

Short Fiction by Melaina Barnes. The Head of the End of the World was shortlisted for MIR15.
September 21, 2018
murderofandreas

The Murder of Andreas Baader by Steve Finbow

Short Fiction by Steve Finbow
September 17, 2018
pitmatic

Pitmatic by Helen Cryer

Short Fiction by Helen Cryer. Pitmatic was shortlisted for MIR15.
September 14, 2018
follow-the-blind

Follow the Blind by Jake Kendall

Short Fiction by  Jake Kendall
September 10, 2018
liz-kay

Llyn Dwfn by Liz Kay

Short Fiction by Elizabeth Kay. Llyn Dwfn was shortlisted for MIR15.
September 3, 2018
pencilled-in

Pencilled In by Eleanor Capaldi

Short Fiction by Eleanor Capaldi. Pencilled In was shortlisted for MIR15.
August 27, 2018
small-bomb

With a Small Bomb in Her Chest by Anne Goodwin

Short Fiction by Anne Goodwin
August 20, 2018
crow-mama

Crow Mama by Lisa Blackwell

Short Fiction by Lisa Blackwell
August 17, 2018
the-nightmare

Reasons Not to Write

Stella Klein discusses her frustrations when writing.
August 13, 2018
auction-days

Auction Days by Chris Lewis

Short Fiction by Chris Lewis
August 6, 2018
the-gardener-2

The Gardener by Andrew Dicker

Short Fiction by Andrew Dicker
July 30, 2018
coming-to-town-alex-clark

Coming to Town by Alex Clark

Short Fiction by Alex Clark Coming to Town was shortlisted for The Mechanics’ Institute Review Issue 15
July 23, 2018
kc-tim-cooke

Kestrels and Crows by Tim Cooke

Flash Fiction by Tim Cooke. Kestrels and Crows was shortlisted for The Mechanics’ Institute Review Issue 15