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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

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

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Unrequieted 1989-1997

Cupid's arrow did I ply. I aimed it straight.
I aimed it high. And prayed to make its path
be true. A winged messenger from me to you.
But Cupid you are Satan black. When I let
love go, you did not come back. Cupid does
only what he wants to do. Cupid's arrow is
no boomerang coming back to you. Sometimes
love's never meant to be your own. And love's
only steadfast like the dandelions when the
wind has blown. And too soon all these seeds
come floating down, planting a ravaged garden
for all us clowns. There are no roses to
slake the need... when Cupid denies you roses,
he gives you weeds.

Meloo/Melissa A. Howells Copyright 1997

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Unrequieted 1989-1997



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