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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  11/30/2015 1:59:17 AM
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My Mind Has Left The Premises

My mind has left the premises,
My mind has gone away:
All my thoughts were blemishes
Upon a perfect day.

My shuttered windows blackened,
With dark sunglasses too,
And busy jaws have slackened-
There's nothing more to do.

Now deep in thought I'm floating,
Through fleshy pods of mind,
And randomly emoting
How memories unwind.
Patti Masterman



My Other Self

In that other place where we dwell together,
I laugh and touch your hands, your face:
It's true that our two hearts there, tethered
Forget their worries for some brief space.

In that hidden world there is no distance;
No miles to thwart our every scheme.
In your clasp there, love, I know I'd dance
Pure joy to see your sweet smile beam.

Would that we could stay forever;
Would that we must never leave-
But naught dwells here can ever sever
The other world to which we cleave.
Patti Masterman



My Plain Face

If finding emptiness, instead of the world,
And what the world thinks beautiful; worthwhile-
I can't help it if I'm made this way,
Though for some reason, I can barely stay

Safe in the doorway, as they make their jokes;
And all the randomness, that our lives cloak,
But if depressed, I've always been the same-
Finding both the self and not-self, strange.

It seems in pieces, and I've done my share
To try to catalog my vague despair;
That I'm a stranger, in a stranger place:
It's written plainly, on my more plain face.
Patti Masterman



My Rigor Mortis

My rigor mortis is never mentioned
Anymore at parties;
I stick myself to one wall, mothlike
And the conversation goes on all around me,
As though nothing were out of the ordinary.

Though sometimes I do stiffen up
A little too much, and then a dolly is required
To remove me at evening's end;
But at least I am at full length then
And not curled up like a pretzel.

Complications are bound to arise:
It becomes harder to speak each day
As my brain is disengaged
Within my corpus, from profundity-
It's unhappy, that writing is out of the question.

When curious strangers ask
How I came to be in such a condition,
My family finds it difficult to answer
Because I started out like everyone else
But then increasingly came to deny my own existence

As an act of random cruelty,
By a creator at the mercy of whim:
If life made any sense at all, we would begin as rotting corpse
And slowly retrograde, all the way back to babyhood;
And die drooling and gurgling,
While smelling very sweetly-
And die without a care.
Patti Masterman
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman