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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)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

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Sometimes,  He Goes Traveling

He travels
on the bus
on his bike
in the car
and in his mind.
Leaves behind supposed scenarios
dark clouds and her.
He thinks he's
on a holiday
vacating is what he thinks
he has to do.
And he meanders on like this
trying to make up his mind.
Is there a point of return?
So he returns at the end of a day.
Maybe mended.
Maybe put back together with glue.
Maybe half at a loss of what to do.
Maybe what he thinks is going on is all a trick.
The synapses have misfired.
Or his life is a blip on a monitor.
He gazes into himself and across
the Geiger counter eons of time.
He was told once, his life fell balancing on
the edges of a dime.
She may not be so bad, after all.
The key goes in the door.
Its good to see you.
Glad you're home.

Copyright August 31, 2005 All Rights Reserved By the Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World

Sometimes don't we all go traveling away from our troubles,
what momentarily ails us...sometimes just in our heads, others...well,
you know what I mean. This is an honest piece.

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