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 Oct 2015 Catriona E
Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Gazing at furry paws

smacking white cord pulls

mesmerizes her.

Wooden tassels clunk together,
waving to and fro
like a tetherball
on a playground pole

spanked by busy children.


He left his kitten

his curious kitten.

Outside snowflakes

float downward

like the pieces of paper

she shred from his exit note
and like bits of cotton

the kitten pulls from her pillow.


He left his kitten,

his curious kitten.

Her hands clasp together.

She utters no prayer.

Downcast she cannot face her Lord.

Her red streaked eyes,

accented by ash colored cheeks

study playful kitten.

Her thoughts clink together

as she slaps them around her mind.

He left his kitten,

his curious kitten.

He left.

He left her.
 Oct 2015 Catriona E
Mike Essig
god made stars
for starving poets

when they look up
they forget
how hungry they are

    ~mce
I buried her
twelve feet under
the backyard.

Because I knew that
deep down
she was a good person.
during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.
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