Earthquake Has Sex

Nothing then fucking then fucking nothing for I am the grinding earth and tectonic climax, I am running before I can walk, I am terror, and I am here. Smooth, baby, smooth, call me unintended, call me screaming as you rush for cover, looking for signs of life, for something meaningful under the rubble, but you do not need my help. There is wisdom in solitude and crowds and among the shattered glass and poisoned water. I am soft haemorrhages and misplaced shoes, family photos and tiny fragments of glass. You can see me in those photos taken from outer space. A ghost, a lingering, threaded into the fabric of the air, I am tension and energy and itchy clots that haunt the sky. I am breezes and stumbling and little white lies. I will fuck you up and you will ask me what becomes of the soul when you die. I have no answer but I am cracked roads and fire and the turning of seasons. I am the chemistry in your brain changing as you orgasm. I am a gushing noise and I am a silence that breaks your chest open. I am a failure of government planning baby, but what would we do without those donors? There ain’t no justice to speak of, there ain’t no crimes with my name on it. I am macroeconomics and I will destroy everything. I am splintering timber and wind. I am a crashing wave. I am exhausting and overwhelming, a thrust and parry attack, and I am lying next to you, whispering sweet nothings as you snore into your pillow. Ask not what you can do for your country, ask the mirror what your guilt looks like, ask why your reflection looks so different from your self-image these days. You do not need me, but you want me. I am your decaying heart and I need no consoling. I can take the world from you and then I can give it back, but I cannot return it in the same condition. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted, but first you have to let me, first you to have to give in.

Immersive Theatre

It is the honour of a lifetime to fuck in the forest with you / to drink animal blood and refuse to pay our mortgage / this is immersive theatre baby and we are the stars / volatile and disgusting / violent and horny / we practice the new sincerity / the bracing righteousness of scarified bones / note the death stare of the roe deer  / the calluses on our hips / sure the critics are setting fires but they worship the smoke and we are silhouettes / our legs numb to thistle stings we are dizzy and sick from withdrawals / nonlinear time coming to an end / and it’s all kind of obvious in the dying light / crusted with mud for the winter / when the spring comes it will be burned away / sickness and guilt gifted back to the earth / we’ll be free again / lithe again / young again / and ready to return to the office

Death Pledge

You are a tranquil tax haven

a miracle                      between two

warring states              you are the profit

under my wings  a linguistic panic

smile for the camera     there’s peace around

the corner        but only if you have the cash

there is no root and branch reforms

that can break us       no regulatory body that can find

our assets               our gold   those tasty write-offs

we quote Hayek and Adam Smith

as though this solves anything

as if money is real  

we have a mortgage  that wages war on our bodies

and we’ll be fine   of course

but truly    truly   sweet god above

it could all be a little sexier

don’t you think?

Ross McCleary is from Edinburgh. His work has been published in the Baltimore Review, Interpidus, Ink Sweat and Tears, Litro, and Extra Teeth. He believes in repetition and Carly Rae Jepsen.