Linda King

monitoring the white count

time and place     disrobe

                                              beyond need

                candle flame
                                                             of language

                                              landfill of eleven dark days

                                                                                                          simple conclusions

in two parts murky water

                                              heart stops                grief reflects

                an expanse

                                                             turn of phrase

                               crawl to the heat

                                              rehearse what you want to say
                                              bring something with feathers
                                              like a new book of poems

every crooked line

                                                             is where you find it

                                              in winter dread hours

                               pull the strings

                                                             appreciate the gestures

in whispers     and garments

                                                             sewn with tentative consequences

                like the rain                               that remains close to shore

                                              waiting now past December



                                                                                           slow pull of tide

                               sirens and lights
                                                                                                          sever and sent

antibodies in the alphabet

you are tragic tender

                                              just another girl on the street

                paragraphs on fire

                                                             computer screen gone dark

                               timed out

                                                                            a patient unfurl

                                                                            where the bones align

curve the words

watch how metaphor

betrays this language

                                                             every prescription

                                                                            sounds like the real thing

                                                                                                          a bloodstream cure

like all careless talk

you must make the most

of the missing words

Linda King is the author of four poetry collections – Dream Street Details (Shoe Music Press, 2012), Reality Wayfarers (Shoe Music Press, 2014), no dimes for the dancing gypsies (BlazeVOX Books, 2015), ongoing repairs to something significant (BlazeVOX Books 2017). Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals in Canada and internationally. She lives and writes on The Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, Canada.
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