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Not Someone's Grand Illusion

Wisdom of the Infinite

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Voice Lost In the Wires

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

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

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

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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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