Michael Pearce’s favorite job so far was at a science museum that actually paid him to direct a documentary about indigenous wayfinding in northwest Australia, northern Alaska, and eastern Polynesia. His poems have appeared in The New Guard, Nimrod, Reed, and, yes, elsewhere.
I’d been thinking about leaving. I’d been thinking how there’s something about out here. Before long it’s a new January and you’re hungover with a heartache for a man you won’t see for several years until he pops up on that very popular, critically-acclaimed sitcom with that actress you learned to like, then hate, then feign indifference abou
The leak in your breathing/ tube makes a cartoon squeak./ It takes two nurses, silent/ as nuns, to place you/ in my arms...
If I have already/ gone insane/ but I want to get/ crazier yet,/ what’s my move?/ Go outsane?
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