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This writing was accepted for publication in the
108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ISBN# issue/book

Flawed Cadaver
cc&d, v278
(the December 2017 issue)

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Flawed Cadaver

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the 2018 literary
review date book

(the 2017 poetry, flash fiction and
artwork weekly paperback book)
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flash fiction & art
weekly planner
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Language of
Untamed Spirit

the cc&d
Sept.-Dec.2017
collection book
Language of Untamed Spirit cc&d collectoin book get the 4 page
May-August 2017
cc&d magazine
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Freshman

Joshua Copeland

You had to fight a path through the brambles
and rinse away the laundry fresh filth.
It still matters to you.
In Southern Gothic, the discussion was over an uppity belle.
You backhanded the air.
A joke, I assumed.
But you had unlearned the girl.
You wrote well, on your knees before Bukowski.
On parole, you combusted A bomb style, eyes bulging,
Squeezing through the bars of your cage.
“This whole class is a joke! All college is a joke!”
A gauntlet tailor made for the diamond studded.
Upending and elbowing the wealthy, white, and dead...
no one can do it.
At the Sod you stood in the cramped kitchen, thirty hours a week,
hunched over under the low ceiling, sizzling hot grease,
cooking your wings,
barbequing yourself into oblivion.
You backhanded the waitress, my friend Jen Miller, over tips.
Gus wouldn’t call the police because they’d revoke you,
and your wings did good business.
And he told Jen if she called, he’d fire her.
She waitressed thirty hours a week to make it through school.
The last time I saw you, you were jogging on 5th, shadowboxing,
your hulking shadow mixing in with shadows of wannabe adults. And finally...
You were alone in the end zone.



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