MIR Editor
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THE JOY OF LIVING, by Alexander Hewett
09:37. A late start. Water on his face, quick brush of his teeth, and he’s escaped the room. Walking down Old Compton Street to Charing Cross Road, through the entrance of Foyles.
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A CHIAROSCURO OF HUNGER, by Oisín Breen
IRISH POET, ACADEMIC, AND JOURNALIST, OISÍN BREEN’S DEBUT, ‘FLOWERS, ALL SORTS IN BLOSSOM …’ WAS RELEASED MAR., 2020. BREEN IS PUBLISHED IN 69 JOURNALS, INCLUDING IN ABOUT PLACE, DOOR IS A JAR, NORTHERN GRAVY, NORTH DAKOTA QUARTERLY, BOOKS IRELAND, THE SEATTLE STAR, LA PICCIOLETTA BARCA, RESERVOIR ROAD, AND DREICH.
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VINCENT’S LOST LETTER TO HIS BROTHER, THEO: OCTOBER 13th, 1873, by Craig Smith
My dearest Theo It has been several weeks now; how are you settled into your lodgings? I have been in correspondence with the van Stockum-Haanebeeks. They pass on their kind regards. It makes me glad to know they are thinking of me, but you are my preferred confidante. I have much to relate. Dark nights…
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A NEW WOMAN AT BEOWULF’S FUNERAL PYRE, by Laura Varnam
I, too, have been laid waste. (That’s the etymological root of devastation in Latin.
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TOPSY, by Daniel Crute
Coney Island, Brooklyn, New York. 1902. “I ain’t got rickets sir, no. Nor the pox.” “Yet,” he said, taking hold of my jaw in a hand that was cleaner than any I had yet seen in America, “show me your teeth.”
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UNTITLED #1. DEVIATION, by Declan Wiffen
in-between two tall pylons forget all that came before swept under the sofa— two morning thoughts on monogamy for a provocation into ‘rusheth rather than runneth’.
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TEMPO RISING, by Alia Halstead
She smokes a rollie whilst blasting hot air up her jumper with a hairdryer. The smell of fresh paint lingers through the smoke. The pangs of pre-menstruation tighten.
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FIVE GRAINS OF WHEAT, by Colin Clark
I arrived in Quito in October 1968. Rolling Stone sent me to write an article on a growing counterculture of freaks and hippies travelling to South America to experience ayahuasca.
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HAVE YOU EVER HEARD WHAT’S UNDER THE RIVER? OR THE LIFE AND TIMES OF GENGHIS KHAN, by Okala Elesia
“Genghis Khan? Never heard of her.” – Diana Ross I When Genghis Khan died, they buried him in lowland shrub beside a river and then re-directed the river over his remains as per his wishes, so that he may lay undisturbed in the afterlife, if there was an afterlife; which he didn’t think there was.
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IMMERSED, by Everett Vander Horst
Church is, I’m sorry to say, a mixed blessing. I wish I could testify that it’s been all fellowship and edification, but in truth God’s people come with a steady stream of frustrated tears and angry words as well.
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