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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

(A Prayer of Intercession--Brief Joy)

Upwards Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Tuesday afternoon in the jewelry box

What If



Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

the slave is freed

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

All Beings Considered

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

Max on the max

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

A Man Called Tsuris

For The Loss Of A Ghost Like You

Love A Cat

Fragile Shell Of Morning

I Long For Stars

I Feel Fine(r)

The Crow Is A Songbird

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

And With Words I Let Them Go

When He Returns From The Road

Flashes, Glimpses, Moments, Time

the brand of disappointment

Boy Restored

Please Don't Bring Me Flowers

No Woman's Friend

Ramada

Sometimes I Hear Him

the life and times of Medusa

why not ask the cat?

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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
really, 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 commandments were mere whispers
but her commandments 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
her best new bullet proof vest

his love was already half-broken
thumping high-hard in his schest

maybe he should've run far in the other
direction
away to the west
faster and slicker and quicker
like the villagers with pitchforks had advised
like the villagers had sworn to attest

she was a real lovely live-Monster
yah-yah

he should have seen
her initial clues
embroidered in dark scarlet hues
bleeding onto her handkerchiefs
huddled deep into her bra-est

but he was so drawn into the site
of her dead-on Nazi blues

and his brain
addled by her girl-woman coos
her kisses that tasted of
biter-sweets,  almonds
leaving him drunk on her poisonous
wah-woo's

(ach-du, beware the taste of almonds)

how could he ever
hope to escape
her death-spiral gape
her achtung-baby wiles
that high-goose-leg-kicking style
and the spring-loaded traps
of her
send-him-to-hell-in-a-fury
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
edited for effect once more January 21 2017
10:31 am PST

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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