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America as a seminary
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by Craig Turnwall
watch you these frail black eyes,
melting toward an oblivion that all but see, wild embers
our mornings as Kilimanjaro, alarm
clocks molten canopies;
bleached wake
shield, our tired minds and loose
afternoon awakenings
botched, scratching toward a mind drone, work
habitat, our channels we search
may not be our lives, none of us know. We cram
to pray for dreams’ salvation, this we propel through no-
coast, rocket past land locked birth, leave us here in the soil and we will grow, water or not, sun or shake, boils of the most rigid earth,
bombastic strange forecast, pipers pipe crazy red canyons;
a blanket sheet of naked
kitchen conversations stretched past empty cupboards
“Prime!”
screamed from porches,
perched against upper window
streetlights,
this with clocks chiming and pillows
grappled, heads
buried
sole reconciliation of prayers absolved by bible
belt, where boundary heritage lies,
ground our inverse selection, emancipating our
constitutions for homologous coitus
knelt three hours on gravel for humanity, rites
which lead to a.m. kisses, night
spent winding tide in inland
oceans, we are here, treading
water, forged roots;
melt us
modern way;
farmers sleep somber nights wrapped
in dreams meant for English kings
looking for Cardinals
scream of purple vestments.
Sub-Western Ideological
Thought, psalms we
plow our fields upon,
bushels of poverty and strain are cried
upon with child eyed
mid-city, lush with vacant streets and ideas
smelt with grasslands for inner wheat;
Souls are born there, fights raged with staunch casualties bored out of streams,
mended sleepless nights we
crave those sour hours and push
forth steam, our
Heartland.
••• View More Work By
Craig Turnwall
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