melissaahowells

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Little Man Orange--My Mister Peanut Butter Trout

Wisdom of the Infinite

THE STITCH IN THE TELEPHONE WIRES

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall



I Turn Forward

The Storm

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

The Make-Up of Molecules

I Will Return

Marinate On This

A Smattering Of Mattering (How Do You Matter)

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

from the tomb of three days sleeping

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Lemonade Days and Rhubarb Pies

Life Among Clouds

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

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

A Man Of The Clouds

The Cruel In The World (Blue Bag Metaphor)

Somtimes in Surrender

Encounter Before Dawn

Shedding Your Skin

Liminality

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Marinate On This


its exhausting
all the arguing
all the killing
the disagreeing
the wars
the words of hate
the inner and outer noise of it

its even more exhausting for me
because of where I came from
I cannot seem to turn it off

I hurt too much
I feel too much
I think too often
I dream too much
I revise the world nightly
in my dreams
or my dreams revise me

I heard human animals being described
as pure consciousness
either individual spiritual beings
or one singular spiritual being
that its possible we could be part
of one another
an ocean with many larger and smaller waves
making an entire ocean

how then could I hate
how then could I deceive
how then could I abuse
another
if they were part of me
would I not only
be harming myself

I must think on this

legal copyright for this poem 5:18AM PST August 28 2019
time and date stamped...any poem without this
is not the original copyrighted version

and also for this writer/author Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-A-World






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