When A Human Loves A Cat

He’s not even my son.

He’s not my flesh and blood.

Not my species or countryman.

He can’t utter a word of human language.

And yet I love him with all my heart and soul,
every ounce of my being.

My strange genetics to his ancient, long genetics,
laid there right across the universe,
side by side in this unfathomable miracle of
the same moment in time.

I say it with courage,
I say it ready to crumble in endless
sentient, fecund melancholy…

I love you Bleuets.

Serve the house of the masters
to destroy the masters,
undo their myths.

The little, mighty cat.

Star Fields

At night we lay with each other
a human
and a feline
across a place of star fields
we dream

Penthius
Prosthylkass
Zyvar

Places of the endlessly living

Bent fist and paw
we claw
back to mortalhood

With the sun bleaching out
what was known of spirits

we wake to live with
and love each other
not knowing why we love

what has been made amongst
the particles
pronounced in arrangement

The Corn In Purgatory

It was 2 weeks ago
that I bought this jumbo bag of corn chips.

And in that time…

I’ve cried about 7 times,
most of them gently.
Once, sitting on my back porch,
looking into the woods,
still feeling an unending love for my cat Pinky
who passed away 5 years ago.

I had sex with 2 women and 1 man in that time.

Got drunk 6 times.

Wrote 5 poems and 2 songs and edited some fiction.

Started a new job that is mentally draining.

Threw a birthday party for Pinky’s brother, Blue.

Made 2 new good friends.

Saw a couple old friends I hadn’t seen since
the pandemic started.

Had crème brûlée for breakfast twice.

Ate pickles and olives for dinner once.

Had an upsetting conversation with my mother.

Continued falling in love with a woman
I’ve lusted, loved, and respected for 22 years.

And so I sit here on a Saturday morning
with a beer
and a near empty jumbo bag of corn chips
impressed these chips have lasted me this long
and seen me through so much.

Mother’s Poem

Heaven
I think is being able to love.

No, not drugs.

not the love of drugs.

Love. Love!

Love, love, love, love.

Love is not the love of drugs.

For heaven is being able to love

without using drugs

with the pure feel of love

in the sunshine
like kittens.

Like 2 little kittens in the sun.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin