melissaahowells

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He Says To Me, I Think Too Much (and hence dream too much as well)

When You Learn Who You Really Are And What Is...

Anti-Poem Number Three 8/2/2022 Or, A Poem Your Proper Mother Wouldn't Write

Breathing On My Own

A Girl Is More Than a Beautiful Box re-edited 10:15pm PST 1/31/22



I LOVE YOU ALWAYS ANYWAY AND INSTEAD

Talk To Me In The Dark 7/8/2022

ANOTHER REFRIGERATOR POEM 7/2/2022

What Is The Price For Your Touch

A NOT-S0-SILLY ANTI-POETRY DITTY

In And In Between The Silence 6/21/2022

Not Alone In the Darkness (As I Once Thought I Was)

Miss Tilt-a-World@

Each One Of Them Is Accounted For (And Matters)

Like Books Full Of Stories Stacked Behind Her

Call It Grace (another Anti-poem)

Lights Out

Saudade: the feeling of wanting to be near someone who is far and distant

That No One But I Will Know (anti-poetry)

To Be In The Way

For My Brother T. J. ( 7/15/2022)

That Once Respite Cave

Dr. Frankenstein's Surprise (Re-Galvanized)

A Stranger In a Strange And Angry Land.

Crimson Lake (From 2008, flashing forward to 2022/April 19)

Words Being Yours...Until The Grave 4/23/2022

The Fire Once Within Goes Cold From Lack

Summer Storms / Electric Monsters

Your Candle Burning In the Wind

On Sunny Days , As I Pose For The Skies 3/17/2022

You Are Not What You Think 3/7/2022 11:56Pm PST

We'll Decide That For YOU

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Lights Out



parking lot attendant girls
who work in fancy hotels
have dreams
melissa chewed her pencil
as she wrote short stories
behind the parking lot till
filled with her schemes
the Fleetwood Cadillac
with its green hard top
parked in the third space
under the moonlight
became the scene
for her next murderous plot
where a showgirl
who carried her Gideon's Bible
and read it everywhere
and in between shows
was found in the moonlight
with fresh blood on her
pretty sequined panty hose
and spattered across her
quizzical blond bombshell brows
her tossled head looking up from
the bullet-ridden dashboard of the Fleetwood
counting the stars she would
never again know
when a horn honked
interrupting  the murder in mid-thought
the leather boy with the spit-collick curl
in his dark mustang Shelby
unloads a 38 special into her booth
and that's the abrupt
end to her tale
bang bang and shoot-em-up
isn't no real way to go
only the parked green hardtop Fleetwood
with its cold eyes
plays the silent witness
as melissa's
stars
go out.

all these random words given to me by my partner to fashion a poem
legal copyright for this poem
and also for this poet Melissa A. Howells
and also for this LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE
MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD
12:15AM PST TIME AND DATE STAMPED FOR PUBLICATION.

WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE AS WERE THE TWO PREVIOUS POEMS.






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