Fevers Frenzied Dreams Poem by Patti Masterman

When I'm ill inside this body, the dreams turn eclectic,
Fantastic montages inside that dark passageway:
When I had the whooping cough,
The Death- lives- in- your- lungs- now virus
I dreamed one feverish night, of a place entirely white-
Every wall and piece of furniture and clothing and utensil
Everything there, a bright, unsullied white.
Probably should have been wondering, am I dead yet?
And next I found myself on a shuttle, about to do it's regular
Flight to the moon, for the spendy,
Interplanetary travel craving sort of man:
I sat down next to a coin operated newspaper dispenser-
And I inserted some coins
A noisy vacuum came on to suck the coins down
Before they could clamber back out
Under the zero gravity of the space bound ship.
I always thought I should patent that quick
Before they actually invent it.
During a brief illness, I once dreamed of walking to the front door
Opening it, I sensed a huge gust of wind swirling around
I tried to hold onto the door frame but it was no use
It grabbed me- whisked me up in the air and away, twenty feet high-
I gave up the ghost then and finally woke up!