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Death Room, Fort Scott, 1949

By Claude Wilkinson Poetry

after a photograph by Gordon Parks Of all his portraits of elderlies waiting on the mercy of their Master, this is most bitter by far once our mind pans away from some few pleasant, long ago moments we fancy the wallpaper’s many morning glories having seen, and down to our penultimate mystery captured by values…

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Deus ex Machina

By Claude Wilkinson Poetry

Many days into any kind of drought, whether lost faith or drying riverbed, god from machine seems the only way out. While the ospreys and quick kingfishers scout for their food in prayer, waiting to be led, many days into any kind of drought begins to weaken resolve and feed doubt, so that birds scoop…

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The Egret Tree

By Claude Wilkinson Poetry

In the past, I have asked for what this may be,             more faithfully perhaps, haven’t I, for some covenant of intimate favor             waiting along a byway? So how then should it be seen, what begins as just             a blue, late morning crease between heavy rains, noticing the usual roadside toll             of…

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