Neil McCarthy has been on the run from Ireland for the best part of a decade, writing and reading, flirting and boozing in places as tourist-friendly as Bolivia, Mongolia, and Russia. He has lived in Australia, China and Finland and has had poems published in the The Dalhousie Review, New York Quarterly, and Poetry Salzburg Review, to name a few. He is currently in financial exile in Vienna, Austria, waiting to meet a rich woman with a bad cough.
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?
See more Poetry, Visual Poetry, or Postcard Prose
