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Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Wisdom of the Infinite

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall



A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Voice Lost In the Wires

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Dragons

HOW

EVENTUALLY...

THERE WILL BE MORE ...

At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

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Bad Blues Boy

Bad blues boy,
mad music man
in a
dark drowned town.
Joint juke n' jokes joy,
unmanacled mewed sound.
Purred perfect pitch prose
lyrical wizard lopes
up n down
the streets
with the
giant keyboard
that he totes.
Portable playster,
playful punster.
Hippy huckster,
licks like thunder
mad mind plunder.
Mister mister
no pretend hipster
everyday there's
people who never
get famous
but stay with us forever.
Everyday there's
people who live
their lives alone.
They're not counted on the
fingers of the living.
No one hears their cries,
No one hears their moans.
You speak for the
lost
and those who know and
pay the cost
and who will always continue to do so.
But I gotta say this to you, so...
listen, if you will..
I hear you
mister mister.
out in the corner pocket,
out in the world,
keep on delivering
your wake-up music
a tasty stew
home-cooked up, a seven days a week meal.
I'll keep eating
your lyrics with my fat brain spoon.
Keep on howling your lonesome tunetelage.
the hairs like notes
racing up and down my spine
curl up as you croon.
From early spring through dark November,
even on a dull winter's day
echoing through the halls of the city
echoing in my heart,
don't crumble,
don't fade away.
Mister mister
quizzical eyebrows
and those over-active fly-out curls
you and your style always
and forever recognizable
leave a footprint
on this world.



Copyright October 2010 /// Meloo Tilt-a-World ///// Melissa A Howells
A very rough cut.





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Bad Blues Boy


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