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The Hope Of All These Things Which Would Never Come In a Box

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



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre


Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

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

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What It Means To Go Missing

How can I elaborate on
something gone
but not quite here

most parts oxygen
not resembling air
but floating away
far far from itself

what view would describe it
this incalculable thing?

once it was someone
now its become a thing
far far removed
as if it lived in a tower
on a rocky island
in a narrow narrow inlet
surrounded by a Salton sea
once whole but no longer a part
of the whole
a mere farthing of reality

why do people look
but do not examine
don't move too near
its too dear a prospect
to get too close

this specimen doesn't like proximity
nor spectators with spectacles near
this being was once varied and real
but has been altered

some spring in her sprung
and now merely falters

the experience of seeing her is
like looking down into the well of a sink
as something shimmers down its pipes
or is it more like
staring up into a rosy-pink morning
trying to recall a distant night...

was there ever, youth
how I/you/we feel so-so removed
from myself/ourselves
I've become a stranger gaping
but not daring,
to look in

they say I've always led with my shins
then fallen down
gotten bruised
I never healed well

did they/do they know
you can't stop the deep snows from coming
or what it means to go missing
from your life
as well,
ah, these are truly not

Not everything is required to make absolute sense;
however, this makes sense to me and to many I know, now.
And that makes all the difference, to me.

legal copyright for this poem/work/manifesto
and also for this author/writer/poet
Melissa A. Howells and also for this legally
copyrighted site title: Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

time/date stamped 3:45pm PST February 27, 2018

thank you for reading and constructive

Re-edited for clarity/punctuation/spelling
on 4/17/2018 2:18PM PST and time date stamped
 and legally copyrighted

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