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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

After Wide Sargasso Sea

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

Great Spirit

Shedding Your Skin

Liminality

NEEDING /KNEADING MORE (sometimes)

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THE MILES THAT ARE LEFT TO GO...


my legs are so much older than I am
one works
and one does not

at night
I prop myself up
in my bed
its a warm space
however, I don't sleep
a lot

my right hand aches
so my left hand fills in
when the other
cannot

I'm learning
to live differently
to practice accepting
the sort of choices most people
would not

I count the stars
I talk to the moon
I make stories up in my head
I keep myself company into the night
and journey when others snore
and dream away in their beds

I grab the covers
massage them with my feet
I swaddle my weary head
I have tried prescriptions
and magical potions
and God knows what
Exhaustion works
the very best so far.

I wonder how much longer
I'll be waiting here
And will there be talk of me ever
after I'm dead


we all occupy a space that's ours
and when that space goes bare
where exactly do we go
does a zephyr carry us gently up
floating peacefully
into the night expansive air

will I be recycled
will I simply be gone
will I be like a blank un-filled-in space
what if part of me lingers on
to continue witnessing
what I'm supposed to miss
and see how I've been
replaced

will I be a ghost
will I roam the earth
will I haunt the places
I have been and never been
will I be the dust to mix with the rain
that falls upon the earth
that bossoms and bursts all new green life
cycling over and over again

if there are miles between
what's here and now
or
if there are but a few blocks
let each moment of my last days
be ones to cherish
when I am finally lost.


LEGAL COPYRIGHT 10/20/2020
3:21 pm PST TIME AND DATE STAMPED
AND ALSO FOR THIS POET/WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS
AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED
SITE TITLE-MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD







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