Rust beneath grey, the hour of black and white, Within a moth’s fluttering drone there lies Two blue balloons and an unstrung box kite Keeping afloat a nightmare, used as spies On an inert town. The moths exchange quick Messages in a sighing language of The dead and explode, a conjurer's trick Settling with the white feathers of a dove. Setting under the last sun, moths baptise Murder on a rock with a strange pallor. A stone of crows with a magpie disguise Hoarding milk bottle tops, silver colour, Pecking holes in a map drawn by the last Surveyor in the dead hand of the past.
Grant Tarbard has worked as a journalist, a contributor to magazines, an editor, a reviewer, and an interviewer. He is now the editor of The Screech Owl and co-founder of Resurgant Press with Bethany W. Pope.
The thing that gives hims a sensation of floating, other than anaesthetic or alcohol, is a mindfulness technique. You concentrate on the branches of a tree and your body sways with them. It makes him calm and gives a floaty feeling.
Art — Priscilla Boatwright is an illustrator and writer working in San Antonio. She is fascinated with myth, magic, and the connections between cultural identity and art. Priscilla received her BFA in illustration at the Rhode Island School of Design. See more of her artwork at http://cargocollective.com/boatart.
Back to Issue 5: Things that Float