K.R. Copeland's first chapbook, Anatomically Correct is at times playful and dead serious simultaneously. These poems are tinged with both the erotic and the ironic, the sublime and the ridiculous, and evoke everything from high modernism to absurdism. K.R. Copeland is a frequently published Chicago poet/digital photographer. Her written work has appeared or is forthcoming in publications such as Stirring, The Muse Apprentice Guild, Sidereality, Cranky, Triplopia, Wicked Alice and Swivel. Her photos have made it into Lily, Rock Salt Plum, LitPot, and Ken*Again. K.R. is also one of two judges for the ongoing Beginnings Magazine poetry competitions. Don’t say fuck in a poem, it’s so outdated like leg-warmers, mullets, similes. Not that syntax trickery is off the glib list; a diamond studded sentence structure sparkles on the tongue, the wingless May bug hasn’t won, the young are warm and dormancy is restless. Every reader is a guest at your cotillion, your red red dress is fitted, swishes, flatters. Twin adjectives are sinfully exposed, but who knows, they could be better in this matter than some tucked away and sunless-busted prose. Back to fuck, I’m bending over, searching for a better word, one unheard in any literary venue to describe the wild ride I’d like to give your mind and spirit with my prowess, up and down and side to side.
