Poems by K.R. Copeland

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Here, Where Once She Was

by K.R. Copeland

From Canary Summer 2011

†K.R. lives in the Chicago River watershed.

Barked things stark against the bay begin to bristle. A dance of hands disfigures curves; murder on the footpath. Sadness gasps, endures unnerving birdcalls. The air is chill and still a little wet long after rainfall. A saltiness aggressively sets in. Who gives a shit if minnows swim these shallows – or if they decorate them belly up? I know enough to know this much; there’s no hope in the boathouse, no shark fin that can fix the sick of us.




Sure it is Becoming, But

by K.R. Copeland

From Canary Summer 2012

Summerís middle sizzles
under sprinkler mist,
its thistled arms, char-crisped
past recognition.

The birds that perched now parched.
Leafy partitions
open to a steamy-beaked protest:
close the fucking curtains lest you burn
up all the worms!

A certain charm is lacking
in this atmosphere.
Everything awithering appears
like spears of crabgrass -- caterpillars
twisted in the wind.

A singe of garden,
deathbed wishes croaked.
A head rolls.
Clovers.

Overhead, a large, metallic marsh bug
helicopters,
searching for survivors
of this drought.




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