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Butch Decatoria May 2021
Such dark dark things that men believe
And given gifts from Heaven
Still suffering in prayers to be set free
The prisons of our realities
With these dark things that men believe
Given daily gifts he can't bother to see
The Agonies of Me Me Me
Chasing shadows in the dark
Things of want, heavy with needy
To be pleased (in pleasures)
Oh dark thing is Man's belief.
Good grief, Charlie Brown.
Butch Decatoria May 2021
To Spoon the Moon


I make smiles from shattered eyes
cry December's distracting fractal frost
move my soul with hopeful sighs
and pray our devotion is not lost

It is the eve of renewal's glee
gave sad promises to spoon the moon
but in the haste of glass we freeze
pose with strangers who fill our room

sweat bemoans my reaching hand
your eyes are vacant with his lust
he bids the hours by your command
we smoke our feelings into dust

this boy is weak yet worships you
opens darkest gates to breed
now enter light that stirs, confused
my tears to scream still go unseen

i am a wish of hearts refused,
the sound of falling poetry...
Butch Decatoria May 2021
Gypsy

“All I have are the embers of our fire...”

A Tambourine, and the evening is beckoning
through the distance
of time : a serpentine road / echoes
the colorful blouses and silks
the memory of indigo fire
casting lithe shadows outside the starry nights
fat with celebration
merely a breath from the walls
of this weathered tent...

You were a storyteller on my skin,
your lips like fireflies igniting the dark,
where only the cold unseen
had gone untouched
until the blaze of the daystar horizon
engulfs without consuming or burning us.

You were wildfire magic:
the emperor stag or wolf or stallion
and the world is one kingdom
with many heirs
and bright castles.

There is a fire for keeping warm,
and fires so hot to shape iron into swords,
you are both,
  mine
And mindful of the wilderness.

Every camp we make
a home to hold the ember's glow.
Perhaps we stay and grow stronger roots,
claim the dirt and dig for its gold,
Replace old hat and dub it a crown?

Nothing  lifts like
    wind ‘yon embers…
But if love were not around,
life would have no fire
no warmth can be rendered.

If your love were not around...
(I surrender)
Love is not mistaken like Lust, dogs sniff each other's taint and sphincters. Love is rain when the world is thirsting to be quenched by her.
Butch Decatoria May 2021
If only Schools could teach us how to learn well.
Butch Decatoria May 2021
Winged Kiss


A wave of a hand
a wand
a wink
             a nod   or  blink

a winged kiss...

You wriggling your nose
spurns me to rub your lamp

I dream of you
as I often can,
           magically and yearningly
I divine your eyes…

What curse or bliss
(Too much of this)
to be abused by your smile
from the muse of your wiles,
all the while
Truly
in our Utopian isolation
no other image of what must
or emulation of their love or
such none-such nonplussed

"you'll die, oh you just must"
dumb struck crush

while we paint ourselves tender
in writhing naked laughter
our own canvas
signed by us...

and only just
ourselves to Van Gogh
"Water Lillies"  and  
"Starry Nights"
       in your blush...

there I can see the future
of your worth
a masterpiece of our colorful theatre
inspiration's lovely birth

in the museums of my lungs
in my life
the art we shape with time
with touch...

what curse or bliss
this wish
come true

a wave of a hand
a wand

                        Our winged kiss.
Butch Decatoria May 2021
Spirit-Walk


Panacea
            Predestined
                   ­     Predeterm­­ined manifesto

The Mother’s womb where spirit blooms
Instinctual wonderment

Yet the kind are almost extinct
Wish and her screaming wings
To stars moon dreams…

The loneliest finds wisdom
Northward believing
So gains his willful strength

Being
            A “Self” beginning
                        Un-scrawling secret

Once lauded in lament
Gone are its notes
And perforce coins’ anarchy

Collects in its place, pockets full,
Full of glory beauty
Accounts rather for star gazing,

Advice with considerations
Glow
Knowing now a purpose
In the Truthful

Journey
         Destined
                   Fulfilling

The lesser roads to constellations
Worthy of ghosts memories din
Renderings from every heaven
                      In evenings, the stars, destiny is written.
Butch Decatoria May 2021
The wisdom of mortal men is not experience, but his faith in believing
He'll live forever
Entitled
To heaven,
It'd be wise to ask forgiveness
What was made can be broken
Misinformation games
Americana den of thieves
It's wise to not deny but let the whole world speak

There are no sides to a perfect circle,
Make Life alive
Evergreen & Free.
How wise to remember.
It's not about me.
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