|
K.
R.
Copeland
Reading
AllowedLaser beams through screams of love-joy, boy I'd like to poetize your native language. Lilting licks of trick linguistics tie my tongue to yours, our knot; articulation. This sensation, slick and sought for, offers little more than spit upon the palate. So they say, or so say they who haven't had it. A Plot of Soil Unspoiled by Your Remains A mock-mausoleum erected for the undead serves as bed and breakfast in my mind. A place for you, a respite, a retreat, no place for you in life, your type is weak. The meek are meant to perish not to please. So please depart, here start with one of these: a gun, a length of rope, a knife; unless, you would prefer to suffer my caress. What I Know of Gold I know that gold is a valuable
item, I'd Leave I'd leave you like the midnight trainExpressly, one way bound Or like the dew that dissipates Late morning sans a sound, I'd leave you in small increments A little everyday, or in a haste of swishes If I didn't wish to stay. |
| K.R. Copeland is
a prolific poet residing in Chicago, Illinois. Her work, which ranges
from formal to experimental, heady to absurd, has been featured in such
publications as, Artvilla, Atomicpetals, Can We Have Our Ball
Back?, Comfusion, Glass Tesseract, Locust, Miller's Pond, Mipo,
Niederngasse, Pig Iron Malt, Snakeskin, Snow Monkey, The Absinthe
Review, The American Muse, and, Unlikely Stories. K.R. is
also a judge for the Beginnings Magazine poetry competitions
2003. email: K.R.Copeland |