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TONIGHT

Expect Yourself

When My Blues Are Gone

The Factory of Resentments

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

Where The Weird Actually Tried To Turn Pro

Accountants

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

I Long For Stars

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

I Write This To Remember

Errands (WHAT ARE YOUR UNOFFICIALLY APPOINTED ERRANDS?)

And I Smile ( Little Little Bird)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Dragons

the earth is our mother

All Beings Considered

This Snake

All Of Who I Was

Where The Dead Don't Mind...

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Peace Where There Is No Opportunity

What Could a Death Meet-Up Have To Offer?

Someone Send Out A Search Party

I Wish God Had Better Magic

Canis Latrans

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Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years



On
a certain day
in May
I might remember you.
I'll be drenched
in the sentimentality of it.
A flower will sprout from each
blue grey tear
I leak.
Then promptly withering to
brown,
will die
at my small gnarled feet.
Unlike the century plant
which lives and thrives but blooms
but once a hundred years.
None of my blooms, so precious,
made of tears, in torrents.





Legal Copyright January 17 2013/ 10:11am PST
 All Legal Copyrights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells //Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World

COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK, FOR THIS SITE TITLE BY THIS AUTHOR





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