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Lonesome Love

All The Changing....


Night Train

Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out


Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Last Night

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month


Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

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usually I feel better
only afterwards

writing is akin to
an aching
an opening up of the wound
a blood-letting
to release poisons
into torrents of words

everyday hurts
they take their toll

some poisons are more effective
because they seem to choose me
why do I let them chose?

who in their right mind
would choose poison
its not as if almonds
improve the complexion of the mind

here is my sweet sip
in its pretty blue cup
the one with swaying blue willows

drinking it up
for me
isn't much of a choice

why then
would I even choose?

LEGAL copyright for this poem
and also for this writer
and also for this legally copyrighted
site Title: Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World.
7:23am pst after one very long night

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