I Go To All The Old Haunts Again
P Patti Masterman
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I go to all the old haunts again
The poets alleys where once
I felt a breeze, a touch
Of something finally awakening in me
The ramshackle doors opened slowly enough
Back then, but nobody answers now;
They all got themselves lives, while I
Have got only fickle poetry as my mistress,
Who famishes me for her entertainment
And then turns on the faucet
When I least expect it; if she sees
That I have submerged myself:
She wants me to drown in words
And I always willingly open my mouth
Together we are trying desperately
To kill me, so that a new tree
Can sprout out of my death
And maybe then new words
Will fall like leaves
And blow themselves
Away, to all the places
I have never been able
To go in this life.
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