I miss scattering pages over the
bed to work out some finicky little
line or rhyme. Now I have to settle for
scattering the constituent parts of
my iPad, oodles of wiring spill out.
I take my vigour from these intestines,
not the dullard murky heart that sung long
ago. If you dig down deep enough you
can make out traces of dinosaur bones,
just smudges in the oil. Blinking lights are
my muse, I shrink a grey thunderstorm to
a pinhead, a pilgrim of processors.
If I type on these ruins of light I’ll
roam with Adam’s unashamed nakedness.
Grant Tarbard is internationally published. His collection As I Was Pulled Under the Earth, published by Lapwing Publications, is available now.
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