Linda King
at the terminal
you want to eat cake
but the vending machines are empty
that’s how easy it is to disappear
you may have wandered
into someone else's nightmare
where everything splits and divides
your whole life lingers
in this bus ticket
out of town
you watch the bridges
burn behind you through
needle threaded vision
your rag-doll metaphors
speak in a new green mottled
by moonlight
who was it
that stole the colours
from you ?
someone who left
their footprints
in the clouds
left you
dancing delicate
on panes of glass
distracted by the alphabet
bewitched
by locks and keys
old newspaper articles
arguments for the colour red
blood that flows in every line
a reality between
theory and compromise
high and low
before and after
mailbox full
of random correspondence
weekly appointments
cancelled
the daughters of darkness
have been unleashed
you begin to sense
your own absence
distracted
by the alphabet your words
walk through mirrors
offering a copy
of who you think you are
while you keep dancing
a dance of sorrow
heavy nouns
in a shuffle of boots
a missed performance
a vision resigned to undertones
and no encore
you want to eat cake
but the vending machines are empty
that’s how easy it is to disappear
you may have wandered
into someone else's nightmare
where everything splits and divides
your whole life lingers
in this bus ticket
out of town
you watch the bridges
burn behind you through
needle threaded vision
your rag-doll metaphors
speak in a new green mottled
by moonlight
who was it
that stole the colours
from you ?
someone who left
their footprints
in the clouds
left you
dancing delicate
on panes of glass
distracted by the alphabet
bewitched
by locks and keys
old newspaper articles
arguments for the colour red
blood that flows in every line
a reality between
theory and compromise
high and low
before and after
mailbox full
of random correspondence
weekly appointments
cancelled
the daughters of darkness
have been unleashed
you begin to sense
your own absence
distracted
by the alphabet your words
walk through mirrors
offering a copy
of who you think you are
while you keep dancing
a dance of sorrow
heavy nouns
in a shuffle of boots
a missed performance
a vision resigned to undertones
and no encore
© Copyright Linda King 2021
Linda King is the author of five poetry collections, the most recent antibodies in the alphabet (BlazeVOX Books 2019). Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals in Canada and internationally including Fourteen Hills, Lumina, Gargoyle, Otoliths, Seventh Quarry and Molly Bloom. She lives and writes on The Sunshine Coast of British Columbia
