The Dog Whistle
by Grant Tarbard
There is no sound
beyond that smoke wafting through
the crutches of an old man,
for tears that are smoke
run easy, a stones throw from the artificial aortas
of a far off few, of melancholic ghosts
that shun the light for want of a far off place
under the stone grotto, conspiring under
the dominion of a witches tongue,
breathing dragon clinker cigarette plumes,
blue ether smoke that glides in under the door,
breaks in the cupboards singing sea shanties
contaminating the cheese and the coffee jar alike.
There is no sound beyond the present, beyond the charging
pulse, there is no sound beyond the dog whistle heart.
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.
His work can be seen in such magazines as The Rialto, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Bone Orchard Poetry, BLAZE, The Journal, Southlight, Sarasvati, Earth Love, Mood Swing, Puff Puff Prose Poetry & Prose, Postcards Poetry and Prose, Playerist 2, Lake City Lights, The Open Mouse, Weyfarers, Miracle, Poetry Cornwall, I-70, South Florida Review, Stare’s Nest, Zymbol, Synchronized Chaos and Decanto.