Radishwhip

Radishwhip

A froth or a slash?
From a flask,
foaming slaps
taste, splayed
off the tongue.

Sensation is searching
for shores
in the skull. Past flora
flickers a brain,
flashing the pan.

Fahrenheit
sizzling, thirst climbs
to press prickly lips—
gasping for water
in cacti kisses.

Vegetation
is vascular rapture:
sailing on blush. Waving
splinters the grin:
ravishes!

Copyright © by Kevan Copeland

As A Novelist

As A Novelist

I control words coerced into being
more than myself. A concatenation
of pages, books, brains: manipulation
is my expertise. I shape your seeing.

I appease inspiration with my clutch;
whether tomes, music, lives—I have a touch
of kleptomania. Reined in my fist:
the fluidity of a pugilist

Dancing in a pen. Personality
disorders, so my borderlines are kept
writing, as I create reality

Conforming to my vision: great. Except—
buried in my lather of character
is a girl, and I cannot extract her.

Copyright © by Kevan Copeland