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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

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

Your Next New Dying Black Swan



The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

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

Accountants

Shrine

Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre

Dragons

Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself

TONIGHT

I WILL RETURN

Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

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some witches never know when things are going well


if I
were to fall into the
sea they wouldn't wring a drop from
me...
no salt no sadness no tears
not even  find a broken wing or bone
nothing from this ole crone

larger women get no service
round here
no keening when the living
is over
into the ground you go
down and into the clover

or into the kettle you go
to be rendered like soap or soup
a bubble and a brew
without a hitch
that is where the baddies go
boiled down like this feisty witch
that was you

good riddance

whether you were whittled down by the word
or watered down by the world
in the end
they'll get you
girl

watch out for those wielding
buckets, shovels
and seashore pails
and those past Lotharios made from
failed potions of snipsy snails
and puddle dog tails

there is no way out
of being cornered now
the villagers have gathered
with their rakes and their hoes
and their shouts
and their gaggling goo-googling
grins

you are at the ocean
edge, the cliffs
you shouldn't have
parted from the Midwest
they're closing in

now here is the end
where you'll stand your last
look below and plunge into
the sea

they already have the cauldron
water boiling
to simmer down what will
remain left of thee

some witches
are idiots
never
knowing how things
were truly great

oh hell now
its much too late
I'll be witch boil
on some
red neck's dinner plate.



Take this literally or not?

COPYRIGHT AUGUST 30 2014
ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY THIS AUTHOR
ALL IDEAS/RANTS/POETRY/PROSE ARE THE LEGAL PROPERTY OF THIS WRITER
MELOO MELISSA A HOWELLS
COPYRIGHT SITE: TILT-A-WORLD





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