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The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

I Long For Stars

All Beings Considered

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Cuba Libre

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

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


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We are at a pizza parlor.

We are approached but not recognized.
We are regulars.

The waiter asks:
"Can I take your order please?"

He looks at me, I say

He turns to my friend, she says

Every time it is the same.
The same man. The same question.
The same answer.


He comes back with our drinks.
He remembers this.

We empty our pockets of quarters
into the jukebox. So happy, we are.

We eat
By the forkful.
By the plateful.

The only profit the waiter makes
is from our Tab refills.

Teenage girls
drink a lot of Tab.

Meloo/Melissa A Howells  site: Tilt-a-World
from a recent prompted childhood memory
All stories, ideas and poetry are the legal property of this Author

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