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author’s note:

Happy Halloween!


Voices from unseen revelers echo
down this shadowy street—

the words unclear—distorted:

sounds from alien beings.

Now I don’t feel so safe
on this porch

but that’s alright—
I don’t want to feel safe tonight.

The echoes drum my wall.

The echoes thrill my belly.

Those aliens have invaded me!

But that’s alright—
I don’t want to feel safe tonight.

The echoes linger long within

then suddenly…nothing
—not a sound inside or out.

Now I see the perfect world again—
I’m as deep and as dark and as bright
as that witching-hour sky.

If everyone is alien
then so am I

and that’s alright:
I want to be an alien tonight.

© 2017, Michael R. Patton
myth steps blog


open all night 352H - January 14, 2015s

author’s note:

Some believe we didn’t actually land a man on The Moon…

Of course we did.  But not on this Moon:


Its white inscrutable face
hovers too close to ignore

while taunting the reach
of these stunted arms
—these starved hands.

I gaze at The Moon
until finally my desire
becomes unbearable

then I turn my eyes down
to weave a way back through
this midnight wood.

But now, I’m no longer so alone:

now I can feel that moon
beaming its weight
down onto my back—

a haunting—a burden:

now I can feel my tides
agitating within—

now I’m forced to feel
sensations, intuitions
I can usually reject—

now this life is again
an ocean of unknown depth.

© 2015, Michael R. Patton
open all night: the book

who are line - June 11, 2014s

author’s note:

Some say we live in a world of shadows…

I say: let’s explore.


Voices from unseen partiers
echo out of the dark distance—

the words unclear—distorted:

an alien sound

perhaps a little frightening.

I absorb the
as do the oak trees—

I feel the sounds
deep within
just as the trees listen
down in their roots.

What resides inside mystifies me
like a shadow kingdom

and so, I keep summoning
long after the voices have gone:

how beautifully strange we are.

© 2014, Michael R. Patton

after the carnival - September 25, 2013s

author’s note:

I wanted to write a book on how to work with dreams…

Instead, I composed a book of dream poems.

To be honest, I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t accomplish the first…

But since, ideally, poetry can take us to a place beyond words, perhaps I shouldn’t feel so bad.


Do these hot bright dreams
truly reflect my cool days—?—

or do they come to rebalance
a self made lopsided
by my mundane routine…?

When I stop to consider that question
—if I stop long enough—
eventually I’ll exhaust my thought
and in the interim, I’ll begin to see
what I really feel, and realize again:
even on a gray winter’s day
I experience a summertime carnival—

—what a carnival I am—!

the best of the night begins
after the rides have all shut down—
when the lights soften
and a breeze blows
the sawdust clear of chaotic footprints…

what then quietly rises within
amazes me so much more
than a monkey riding
a carousel horse…

thank god, I’m a mystery to myself.

© 2013, Michael R. Patton
book of dream poems

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