Patti Masterman Poems

I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
...

The dresser has gone away-
The altar of my younger self
Resides elsewhere now;
It wasn’t worth enough money
...

Everything in this peculiar world
Has a tendency to become
More and more humanlike.
Soon store dummies will be
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What kind of operation is required
to get something published?
Is it drive through or stay-overnight;
are there rooms of gowned surgeons,
...

There are three people who live with us now
Who no longer move their molecules around the world
No longer expel carbon dioxide into space
The only real movement they're capable of
...

The sky is just another highway:
Burnt white by the sun's time wheel
A template of restless motion
Peopled by the wisps of our imaginings
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I think that I shall never see
A thing as odd as eight baby
Eight baby from a single mother
Makes me roll my eyes- oh brother
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As soon as you tell the one you love
That you have fallen in love with him,
The love affair begins to sour, wither: die.
Great mournful clouds will begin to mass on the horizon
...

You came as my child, but stayed on as my friend
Your soul has great depths I try to comprehend

Why did I deserve someone amazing as you are
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I know I could go on like this for eons
Just following my minds latest fantasy
The brain erecting more dramas
More sets and backdrops
...