antibodies in the alphabet

LINDA KING

BLAZEVOX[BOOKS]
Buffalo, New York
antibodies in the alphabet
by Linda King
Copyright © 2019

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without

the publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in
reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

Interior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza

Cover Art by Natalie Trujillo

First Edition
ISBN: 978-1-60964-339-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019930788

BlazeVOX [books]
131 Euclid Ave
Kenmore, NY 14217
Editor@blazevox.org

publisher of weird little books

BlazeVOX [ books ]
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foreign alphabet in the guest house

there is an argument that goes on and on

until a meaning that the mind creates

settles in a house with crows and bits of paper

how it really happens is a truth of sorts

a second language dressed in silver hoops

and old war tunes

you have a constant need for surprise

entertain a foreign alphabet in the guest house

all languid and lace and no shade

an accident is mostly hearsay

with a cloud flurry of white lies

scraps of evidence without music

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the always hungry are at the mercy

of whatever they think they know

it’s all dollar store rivalries in the parking lot

but truth will not be framed

not in heirloom gilt or rough cloth

with poor stitching at the hem

bargaining seeps in everywhere

every one’s childhood goes missing

the way a river will follow itself

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anticipating high tide

adjust the tension on the page

swerve across the yellow line

whatever is necessary

to contain

small landslide sentences

in the blue hour of occurring

like a child

in imagination’s shelter

you keep moving the money

keep ignoring the distress signals

but you purchase

storm jackets

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shut and latch

all the windows

things could still go wrong

your scrabble tiles are all vowels

every message

a sound bite

it will take some time

to query the ocean

on a secure line

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language is too odd a thing

at any moment

remnants of the four elements

have some layers removed

and scattered…

tumble down fences

frequent flyer miles

self-evident fundamentals

break the link with fortune

wild meanings never found

language is too odd a thing

folded and pressed into submission

deconstructed

line breaks

like limbs dangling

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you are in a gallery

with empty frames

every word written

no longer exists

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all night radio

the cat thinks

in present tense

the language at hand

forms of attention and gravity

everything ordinary

like trying to name hummingbirds

you read too much into everything

you want your language decoded

with a hint of oddly familiar reality

catalogue particulars

of past plotting

like junkyard scavengers

all those chalked-in masterpieces

washed away

white-out shoe polish

on old sneakers

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blizzard of narrative clues

in caffeine conversations

what hums beneath

is a textual current

of constant revision

the letters in your name

scrambled

in the failing light

of all night radio

the announcer’s voice

is a carnival wheel of philosophies

plundering the sweet hereafter

a nod to Aristotle

is the price he pays

for forever seeking

an in-between

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no theory holds true

paper offerings common visions

tidewords from a calmed sea

there is no remedy

all the words

have been smoothed out

collect the spelling mistakes

you were always good at subtraction

although

they know you are not from here

there will be confusion

words pile up

someone

has swept the walkway

clean of seedpods

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your pink birthday dress

clings to the clothesline

pain is the same

in any language

you don’t need a smaller alphabet

what you are not is still you

with all the vowels

and delicate consonants

resembling grief

sound it out like a child

make it real

go back to the beginning

diffract the light

all those volumes

contain death in every chapter

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your descent line is suspect

it has too many fractures

something is missing

something is always missing

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