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A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

The Differences

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak



Wisdom of the Infinite

Not Someone's Grand Illusion

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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Black Hole Singularity


Where's God?
Life?
I'm floundering.
On this murderous road atlas.
Earth shifts. Birth to Death.
A sensory canvas of
growing into our shoes
and then doddering on to
oblivion.


Still life and photography
affecting, grainy
in/out of focus.
We dumb-hope for paternal
maternal fraternal romantic
love.  Sigh.
Experience its failures.
Hope for some more hope
even when the facts do not add up.


Sometimes enlightened,
we are
when we're lucky.
Sometimes we muddle in mud.
Wishing for a full whale tale
and adventure.
Wishing our stories would be
convincing, though we are  
unconvinced.


Agonized and honestly spent
our worn coping
fills us with humor, pain,
remorse,
doubt, a kind of debt.


Above we see a sky of shining stars.
Are they gifts to wish on?
Basking in their twinkling night skies
of profundity...
we lean in towards the prospect
of
a
black
hole
singularity.





Copyright June 22, 2013 All Rights Reserved
By this Author.
Melissa A. Howells Meloo/Tilt-a-World





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