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Heir Egoista...

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

The Life of Tigger

Lucky Was Easy

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care



When It Was So Grand To Pretend To Be An Eskimo

This Home I Long For Yet Have Never Seen

The Tail (tale) She Had Long and Tall and High And Proud

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

definition (poetry 101 for me)

why not ask the cat?

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

A Man Called Tsuris

Where Did Mrs Smith and Her Little Pink House Go?..

Outside the Window, Frozen

Enjoying My Newly Acquired Small Deserted Island, Thank You...

Butterfly Girls Like Me Were Meant To Fly

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

Max on the max

A Box Of Darkness

Ramada

Fourteen Hundred Miles

Of A Wounded Branch

Tuesday afternoon in the jewelry box

the life and times of Medusa

Friend Squirrel I Call You December

Bitter Medicine

The Forward Pass

I Have Changed My Mind

Describe 9-17-2016/9:04 AM PST

after- midnight marauder's ice capades

Cannot Bring Her Back

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Better Than A Cyanide Capsule


Oh
you wouldn't want me
she said
I'd be you're
goose-step, goose-egg
Strop Stasi Mamma

he blinked hard twice
she was beautiful
strong-willed, strong-jawed
a large-boned, blue-eyed
cornflower woman
just a girl

now how could this be true
how could it
possibly be

I'll be your German disaster
I'll be your Task Master
a darlink Schutzstaffel

her commands were mere whispers
but her commands weren't given in jest
she asked by way of command
he felt inclined to give into her demands
though
over her heart she wore
a bullet proof vest

his love was already half-broken
thumping in his chest

maybe he should've run the other
way to the west
fast and faster
like the villagers with pitchforks had advised
like they had sworn to attest

she was a real living Monster alright
yah-yah

he should have seen
her initial clues
embroidered in dark scarlet hues
bleeding onto her handkerchiefs

but he was so drawn in within the site
of those dead-on Nazi blues

and his brain
addled by her girl-woman coos
her kisses that tasted like
biter-sweet stale almonds
leaving him drunk on her poison

(oh, beware the taste of almonds)

how could he ever
hope to escape
her death-spiral smiling gape
her achtung-baby wiles
that high-goose-leg-kicking style
and the spring-loaded traps
of her
send-him-to-hell
Nazi blues.


Copyright June 16 2016 All rights are reserved
by this author/ Meloo
Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
Meloo/Melissa A Howells

all ideas /rants/poetry/proses are the
expressed legal property of this writer

edited 6/19/2016
edited 6/20/2016

Copyright and written June 16 2016 7:17am PST
all legal rights to this piece belong
to this writer Melissa A Howells/
copyright site title Meloo/Tilt-a-World

Originally titled Her Big Nazi Blues/considering other titles





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