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May 2020 · 68
Pet-Smarts
Butch Decatoria May 2020
4:56 p.m./ Tuesday Afternoon at the super pet supply shoppe.
In the city its already summertime, the scorching heat stays just  beyond the sliding doors, and inside the air is cool. Not crowded by any means, but this is considered busy for pandemic times. Only some wear masks and latex, what’s truly worn are only long faces of oh my lord—where’s the love?

    A single check out cashier, a mid thirties brunette, and coworker assistant manager slash younger awkward late twenties Wanna be friend. The two women volley their conversation, keeping alert at work yet having witty banter, and under face mask subdued laughter. It’s their picture of professional. (No schisms).

There’s a short line of three customers at the only counter and cashier, a young Asian man who stays silent except his dark brows and wide almond eyes behave way too loud and anxious. He quickly exits soon enough, with dog treats and receipt—gone, left behind no remark or clue of the presence of himself. who what now? Xexei. It was nothing who?

After him on the blue spot that’s six feet apart exactly, a kind golden girl—black grandma, carrying herself assuredly and queenlike proud and strong. She has had a lifetime to know better how not to show expressions out in a world full of fear and angry hate and judgemental folks concealing their guns. Only when she speaks will others know the emotional landscape on her color, purple dark like a bruise, they are all earth Tone and pale flesh, they all knew hate somehow, somewhere. But this simple moment outside homes of box, apartment  cage, incarcerated times (more or less an animal) here, there’s no danger. Not eminent or otherwise, not from what she could tell. She relaxes shoulders a tiny bit, sighs at the clarity of time’s aging wisdom. Congenial, since there was no recourse or fight ergo no recoil of folks from keeping it real with each other. Yeah, she nods to herself, there no danger ‘round here, though with covid 19, most stress biting the fear.

A dark skinned couple enter, a bull size of a man leading the way for her to follow. He had that look about him —a Mad dog glaring at those he sees, reading their faces, smelling the air, ready to stomp on anyone that would make a racist comment with their ****** que’s. He seemed as if he were looking for an enemy the way his furrow swept the room. His ***** follows behind, and she’s embarrassing enough, he tells himself, she’s a giant babae’s kid; ***** broccoli Brillo hair, unruly growth with twigs and leaves and twine. she is taller than him, bringing herself more attention, but her blank face and fat lips pursed, her eyes rolling— not with attitude but lack of aptitude most women her age possess. He seems to be thinking let’s see which one these ******* gonna say somethin’. At least that’s what his face said...

    “So yeah, like I was saying,” says the younger assistant manager with her pigtails trying too hard, while she folds boxes and wipes baskets and disinfects shopping carts. “Since we work with pets, I think we begin to treat our men like so…”

As a young man in a white tank checks out and exits the store, the cashier remarks under her breath, completely distracted, it was louder than under, the breath that everyone heard. Her coworker catches the last view before the doors slide closed, she nods, her pigtails still trying too **** hard.

    “I don’t mind THAT kind of stray coming home with me,” brunette cashier says, then  both women chuckle, one howling like a wolf,”ah wooo!”
    “But he’s not ***** trained” someone says.
    “He’s old enough honey, he’ll know what he’s doing and getting.” Checker gal continued with a hint of doubt.
    “I would rather have a well trained lap dog who’s house broken.” the older lady in line says then,”if you going to have to, yknow get yourself a dawg, then it better be well trained by none other than you yourself sister child” she begins to smile wildly and giggles at the thoughts she thought.
    “You can take the stray home for a night or two,sure. But mmm child, if it’s longer, they literally will stay without havin’ given your verbal command,” the women are laughing together now, and pause their work since she was the only customer at the check out anyhow. “It gets ugly tho’— when you try to oust a pit bull out cha house. No Siree I’d rather have my baby boo who’ve I trained to come and lay his face on my lap—“ more gaffaws at this. “And who fetches what ever it is i need. And most times it’s just sit and give mamma kisses, hehehe…”

“Amen to that sister!” The blonde girl folding boxes suddenly grabbed her own mouth slapping herself with the reaction she got, their audible inhaled breath and wide eyed glances shot in her direction. *** she mouthed was that racist?  “I’m so sorry. Oh my god oh my god oh my god … I swear I’m not racist, ma’am. I mean I know I’m not cuz I want a black man for a boyfriend, I’ve always wanted one…get married to one—” her last remark set the strong older lady into a fit of laughter, which infected those around them.

Embarrassment turned into acceptance, feeling accepted, that human connection covid19 couldn’t **** or take from us.

After some time, wiping tears of laughter from their eyes, and work had carried on in the interim, the hilarity lessened as the older lady paid with her debit card. Her final remark as she gathered her shopping bags,”becareful nowadays with the brothers, yknow if you bumpin uglies, cuz most now are just ruthless dawgs. Tearing your life and home apart. **** ruthless dawgs.”

‘I wonder who’s at fault’, they all coincidentally thought.

* * *
May 2020 · 202
Vision (senryu)
Butch Decatoria May 2020
Like “Connect the Dots”
Rorschach ink blots, shapes of clouds,
Mind maps the Heart’s drive.
May 2020 · 59
RIVER. (final edit).
Butch Decatoria May 2020
The impetus
                 Of being
Always on the run
               Through pinwheel eyes
                      Those standing by
              The mystic roadway :    River
Blues yet to be brushed
                   Or in blush
                           from Evenings’ chill / breathing
Canvas
Like windows we
                               dreaming / felt /
All mindful
And chock full O'
                           Wonder
Then ponder
                   Yonder—"window breaks"
                   Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone-heavy wood
                          Umber earth
                          Past whoosh and rush of liquid
Folding on itself like a soundtrack
      Listen now
      Pedestrian be
Mindful of the cautionary whales
                                                   Old Ahab’s yell
                                  Obsessions
                          Fears
                                   Or loathing.
If one is drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly
                  widely
                              Blithely
                                    Down river  
Or up there beyond finger's point
                               Sidewinder-snake-journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet

The distance
                   Now only a line
                   Coalescing what is beyond
Our ability to see
Far and away
      Evanescent
             Effervescent
                     Ever after      
                             River. / Life.

Here we are / being / proud
       Free-Spirit-Fluent
                         With the rapid rivers, loud—
                                                Always on the run...
The Current like a child's curiosity,
How goes it then?
                   When or why
                                       does it end ?
Where do we go?
                    
Like most things beyond existing,
                           Will be lead to the high art /
Love’s deep oceans…(Night’s dots of stars)
          
We wish often and forget to seek
                minding
                               the sublimations/
                                                          driftw­ood.
So, Let’s then
Begin with a dot . a speck of dusk
                            or bursts of sunrise
                                                         ­  Dark, starry skylines
pieces to mastering
                             Raging fragility of waters’
(Unctuous undulations)
                                    Folding itself in volumes
Or falling from on high
                                  A droplet cry !

Then flash of lightning! (crash or bloom)
From the heavens
                            like electric rivers
So brilliantly
                   Festoons...

Where do we go
                With those under toes
      There and here / underfoot /
                              Over north / southern sleep
                                          or to Oceans’ twilight deeps?
Go wrapped or map-less Or no,
    Up
         Way
               Up yonder
     There Up there
                            Everywhere
                            All without fear...

My heart like the river yearns
             To go toward the sun
                       A flow / afloat
                 the beating drum
Always on the run
And
        Yet
             Still
                    Here.
Revised. Final edit.
May 2020 · 55
Being NOW (10w)
Butch Decatoria May 2020
Why try being cool now
When you can be You. ?
May 2020 · 93
Misguided
Butch Decatoria May 2020
What’s spiritual worth
We can’t speak for any Other,
If we’re just Alive

Actions speak louder,
Good as gold is heart of good.
Life is now not ‘fore.

Love becomes FortNight
Games made to play ‘til it ends
our Worth’s dimming light.

We all still living
Can’t speak for the soul still here
Must be here to steer

Take hold of your wheel...!
Take responsibility.
May 2020 · 43
It’s aGiven
Butch Decatoria May 2020
It goads me that,
Even when I tell her the absolute truth
(Because we are blood, “family”)
She does not believe me
She takes it personal saying I lie to hurt her,
And I understand I rebelled
But we grow up eventually
And when all you have is the trust
Between you and loved ones
It cuts like a knife
Realizing
The truth of how you’re seen
There’s a
Loss of connectivity
That thing
Supposedly it’s “a given”
Between “family” (supposed to be)
First and foremost —good grief!
How it goads me!
That there’s no trust, ergo no
Love...?
Apr 2020 · 44
Falling (10w)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
She worries like a woman in love/ about losing him.
Apr 2020 · 88
The Morning
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
Summertimes’ rainfall;
When grass grows tall on your lawn,
Dragonflies come home.
Apr 2020 · 101
Red-Hot Religion (revised)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
He has this . . . Hunger like
Hurricane Hips interpreting endangered
wanton meanings of lustful touch
Starving eyes wanting

He has this . . Culpable shame
that’s  relative to the Red-Hot Religions
of sailors, muscled maritimes
showers of spit and ****
storms of guy-gravy
and then the little girl inside,
that darling damnation,
leaves him to those parched cats eyes

The panther's eager lips
that somehow rescues him sexually
With cold reptilian offerings
spires and skies which takes him home

away & aware he’s one of them:
chestnuts from china
The Buffalo’s bride
Lost in one salted heavenly hell

He has that . . . Craving,
A ***** for Jackal-harsh joys
but the lipstick love of sinful men
like magnets to his mad blindness
its ***** and biohazard truths
Still resounds in the black poetry
A stain of empty pews

Hearts
designed by desires over
Sins & desperations both
an epic dirge, some think
which will later play in a temple
That will sink darkly, singing
a Red-Hot  requiem reckoning

for all who are
lost in their lust
and the god-awful truth of it,
In beings lost  
Never having even begun
To know Love
Not cross…
Love is love
So what's ***?
Apr 2020 · 47
The Surf (senryu)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
Wake to each morning
In awe, as blue ocean drinks
The sky bleeding gold.
Retitled from “communion”
Apr 2020 · 88
Alphabet Soup (F & G)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
F not for **** or for fracking fame,
It’s for face that is saved, for everything else
That’s F not for effed up freakazoids
Framing the fool or the wannabe fricassee'd.
F is for frozen soul, F is the finale of pitch dark hell
Without a tolling bell
It’s the silent sorrow of farewells.
F is for fire no devil could sell
Funk’n soul, none in hades
Doth ever tell...

G is for the gravitas of goodbye
It’s the gun which grieves
Beneath the soil and sky,
G is the goodness of tears
Love proves, falling from one’s eyes...
So long bereft of feeling
G is for guile...
Apr 2020 · 51
The Profundity of Sheep
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
I will follow you
and call it love
to the edge and the ends
of our earthly bed
by your pipers' song
trusting your will with my blindness
because I do not fear
your Love.

Teach me and lead as a shepherd would
my own wisdom bleats
no depth nor words worth hearing
since speech
Belittles the lesson
and removes much meaning

Of the gifts that Love gave.

Pull me forward and away
to awe instead of weep
the heavens in your embrace
where there is no place for doubt
no panic but for the grave…

I trust that I must matter
even as a speck of dust
you carry me through winter
to rainbows
reminding me that

All is Love.

Even as I wallow in the hollows
of no self worth
you mean to me as I'm meant to be
since time was given birth
the golden truth
the Light of you
Though I'm a speck of dust...
Flooding tears upon the eye,
no worry
or boundaries
No bleating cries

There is no Falling
when you, my love, are
my every sky.
Repost
Apr 2020 · 62
Well... (revised)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
It has taken too many
Years of broken
Beer bottles
Porcelain
Pictures frames on the mantle
And promises to not notice

Mr. Glass is loudly belching
Mumbling songs off-key
In the kitchen
By the sink and Fridgidaire
To the soundtracks of John Lennon's
Lemonade love songs
Hitching a ride on Cat's peace train
Or manic for the Beatles
(British Invasion on vinyl)
He has lost his collections
Soaked and ruined
From a flood aboard his battle ship
He reminisces like this
Or as a mud person hippy youth
At Woodstock

Even when tucking himself in
My barely and not legal sized bed
Naked, laying with He-man themed sheets
And grumpy bear blue
On my pillow,

I wake to find him
Native and fetal
I am too keen to sleepwalk
So I pretend to
Toward the living room couch
Just the right size
For my eleven year old height.
I don't mind sleeping on the couch,
would rather not get soaked
In Mr. Glass' yellow
Miller time dreamscapes
It would be easy
To blame me, the kid, for bed wetting
After every twelve pack
Every couple of hours,
******* in the sinks, slowly
Losing his six pack
And or his composure
To tell tales, tall stories
To hear reasons why the cat
Ran away with the spoon
The nostalgia of his
Man on the moon...

Mr. Petty officer (1st class 2nd 3rd)
Has rarely lost his stomach
No stink of *****
Or pools of shrink and scram
Marinated in Coors and Budweiser
Weimereiner mountain man
Has his virtues
Or is it a skill?
Mr. Glass keeps it all in
Well
And rocks my sleep
Zeppelin
Half dozing to be fulfilled
I am those nights, nervous
Wreck and awake

Even as he breaks
Down nostalgic in his weeping
My ears become selective
Hugging my pillow
Listening for his fumbling
As he sways and crashes in my room
A clumsy beanstalk
Head in the cloud kingdom
Fe Fy fo falling
Down

Well, it's just the broken harp
No golden eggshells
But porcelain mosaics
Beer cans and wishes
Echoes slurring deep in the well
When he snores
I migrate my mind
Away from his hell
I shrug in silence
To its frequent scenes
Yet in the morning
We both slept pretty well
As far as I can tell
From my father figure
Deficiency

All is
So seems
And he means

Well.

Oh well.
Apr 2020 · 66
Alphabet Soup (E)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
E is for the Evenings I fall into your Eyes,
Every kiss and Embrace,
Each breath exchanged, I recall your taste.
E is for the Elegance of the echo
Of your touch, the embodiment of an ache,
E is for the Eloquence of that hush
Every dream I wish to wake,
Or love to finally make...
Apr 2020 · 65
Alphabet Soup (D)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
D is for Drive, and the Distance of your tries,
It’s the vehicle we control, sometimes as a passenger ride,
Or it’s that motivation, the combustion inside
Which moves us, push Us to further and farther than
Before we knew we would break, limited by
The reins of our conditioned fears
D is for doubts, the dauntless discard
D is for Disappears, driven by the engine of
Our hearts, and experiences rears fires loss
Memories high above
An albatross.
Apr 2020 · 92
Alphabet Soup (C)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
C is for Chances, not choices, taken
Which makes one feel truly free,
To place yourself out there
To let the fates decide
Let Chance, destiny’s child, be your guide
Or C what happens
When we’re open to Love.
C is for cry out loud, give silent hugs...
Apr 2020 · 75
Alphabet Soup (B)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
B is for Bunches and bunches
Of *******
By those most Believing
In it’s complete *******, liars
Who weave it —call It.
B is for By the Way
In whom’s ******* do we
Trust? Truth is a must.
Apr 2020 · 81
Alphabet Soup (A)
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
A is for Air / that begins in a breath
In the breadth of such a vision
At seeing true beauty,
In a grip of an asphyxiated inhalation
Caught like a deer...
Stunning beauty takes your breath
A is for Away.
Apr 2020 · 251
At the Laundromat
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
At the LAUNDROMAT / the sign, all in Caps.
Time : Midnight at half past

It’s like a home for my home-girl
And that Chicano Youngblood
Cutie with his family duties /
in the lateness of tonight, doing laundry:
Folding his brothers’ Johns
His Tia’s Lacey skimpy's
Crumpled like tiny ****** / scrunchies.
He’s Methodical, his eyes don’t waver
From his work,
Tries to not notice mines

I feel like I’m in a rap video,
My chick being clocked by dark eyed,
She does not notice,
& while at tumble dry
I can’t quit ogling at ****
Hanes-shirt white,
Mr. homegrown boy / guy.
Headphone Speakers have his ears
Texting back at spam / females,
Smartphone shiny thick ‘uns
While I watch salivarily, licking lips
**** so Fine!
My muffled salutations—hot ****!
He’s Adjusting himself front faced
my window to
Things that makes you go hmmm...
I feel I should somehow
Cater to these wiles inside
Aquiver / wrought / A high
Willowing / body admonishing
the vibrations of deep bass
like hard hip-hop rap beats from
Impalas riding way low,
Tinted windows vs. blind faith
Reality vs. perceptions from our
Fantasy / briefly close shuddering eyes
Awake not a dream spared.
(Hello there!)
Midnight at the Laudromat,
This is some reality at that!
Home grown boys
And drool drops / swimming in thought
From the corner of mouths
Words are *****
Past the late of moonless nights
In the neighborhood of Twain and
Corona beers (hold the virus)
We’re all marked by the streets
And the big empty inside us...
The hunger pangs,
Homeless outside chitchat on black
Skittering past
City Wildlife
At Midnight at the Laundromat.
Yes ****** &
       Too **** at That
(In all caps.)
4-7-2020
Apr 2020 · 46
YourQuote.com / peace be
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
Peace Be
To you and yours
To those whom you abhor
To every visitor at your door
Peace be

To kin and family
To their health or malady
Peace be
To The dearly departed
Those cradled now and
at infancy,
To thine legacy or worst enemy
Peace be

With all & with you
Peace be
To Life and the world
To boy and girl

Peace be
To you and yours
Apr 2020 · 60
Miss the Most
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
It’s what I miss the most,
The touch so tender yet gripped with yearning
Moist eclipse of our lips in a kiss
Electric goose-flesh, a quivering chill
Climbing up my back
From the tips of toes below
To the tip top of my skull.
Love, you lift me with a taste of morning,
Noon & Five o’clock shadows,
I miss you the most in our kiss
Audibly i moan, in such bliss,
******* follows.

Gripped in passions burning,
Love makes a blaze
I’m afire, learning ...
A real life kiss for a ghost,
After all, it’s what I miss the most.
Draft? Final...?
Apr 2020 · 72
Money / senryu
Butch Decatoria Apr 2020
"The Hollow Mountain"
All climb to reach "Easy Street".
Root of men’s evil.
Revised.
Mar 2020 · 88
Santino
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
It would be rude to
Ask his mother (running to market for syringes)
Ask if he was crooked coming out,
A broken bambino, was he?

Haunched Santino and his mother
From their makeshift hut of crates
And unwanted soiled baby blankets
Stab themselves between the toes

While the Asians pass through
In their Lexus's and glittering Samsungs
As indifferent as the heroine
That Santino and his mother buy
(Veins like fingers rivers lightning)

She's sensitive about everything,
Watch what you say...
It seems like love, a son and his enabler
Or vice verses all the world
A rotten oyster.

I dare not ask his mother
Which came first
(The chicken or the egg?)
Was he a crack baby, her good boy, Santino
Or was she?

“Watch your mouth!”— She's yelling
At foodies parking their cars,
With her eyes closed, walking about, lost, lots...

He's a good kid, forever her bambino
I now understand selfishness
How deformed came the world to Santino...
Repost
Mar 2020 · 50
Photograph
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
At times I need to glance at this.
When you’ve gone, I'll think fondly of
all the summers in your smile,
you’re just so beautiful here.

And now as I look ahead
at the times I'll again need
to rout the insufficient days without you
my eyes will fall on this

Thoughtfulness
fraying at the edges.
An old glossy paper memory
kept perfect, still —your smile,
that's mine. I’ll hold it near & dear

with me.
without you…
Mar 2020 · 55
Viral Commercial
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
Thanks! Coronavirus—for bringing my whole family together this Spring. No more dreaded holiday reunions memorizing old folks names, no more uptight rich ***** looking down at me, and no more school! Gosh there’s so much to thank you for. Thanks so much, Chinese contagion! Now I know who my real dad is! (Cut! Fade to black.)

If it weren’t for that pesky respiratory disease, I wouldn’t have known what true freedom felt like, since we aren’t allowed outside. Are we children, being grounded? Are we so stupid unable to follow instructions—wash your ****** hands before you eat!

The president says he’s going to get me $1000–per household, for bills and what nots. For toilet paper, bottled water, because we’re all too lazy to boil the water from the faucet ourselves. Sucker better not be lying, cuz I needs that you know? Yo, ***** better have my money.

Thanks again Coronavirus, reminding us of our oppressions!
Fearful of human expression.
It’s not the flu, it’s Covid 19! Oh thank goodness!
Mar 2020 · 47
To Be So
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
Poetry is my art, so I will paint with words and emotions which colors the ether. I am a grain of sand on the canvas. A tiny pin point of a star. To live forever in a twinkle of the eye. Beloved.
One in the infinite.
My heart is Your Heart
I am your Poetry.

(O most on High,
Oh Beloved.)
YourQuotes.com / butchdecatoria
Revised.
Mar 2020 · 44
Conceited (10words)
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
How sick am I !
Do I smell hints of pride??
Mar 2020 · 73
Desire 1&2 / senryu
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
...One...

Burning with goose-flesh
Yearnings like calderas’ thirst
Your kiss is my rain.

...Two...

I’m burning without
your fire, your kiss I thirst,
Aprils full of rain.
Mar 2020 · 59
Sunflower / senryu
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
A golden pinwheel.
Tall and proud, the face of day,
Bright love’s bountiful.
Revised.
Mar 2020 · 68
I Love You’s/ senryu
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
A Birthday bouquet
Every year for dear old mum.
Goes without saying.
Repost
Mar 2020 · 61
Odds / sadoka (revised)
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
They vie for corners
Young beggars in Chinatown
Scrap for the best spot

The intersections,
Piece of cardboard box for work,
The hard-pressed traffic

Yield better odds for
Hand outs from passenger-side:
These Horse gifts for mouths.
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
Umbridging the gap,
and the platitudes of word-******
     as well as the Encyclopedic pimps of posh
spiced with lingual ice...
          Because I am a simpleton
with a thirst for the Beloved
             Her discriptives, meanings,
                      Am I / I am / scholarly lacking
    Juxtaposing my script to refer
to references Grecian or urn, an
                     enflagrante artisan
                            spurts with superlatives,
personified iambics of rhetoric, the lines
       limned with deep shagrin

              because my verbs are linear
even when my chicken scratch
                          struck midnight a match stick
flame to illuminate
         my poetic fluffer's formulae,
              schisms from my own mind's magician hat...

Not to be-little or slight those hands walking
        that yellow the pages
                     slothly seeking rote,
              for meandering bibliographies,
librarian's histology / fingers for Captain
Cook or Hook / exploration's verbose
           exploitation if at most
                   connecting dots’ treasured maps
purposeful / placement / the imagery
                         in the textiles
              of poetry's destined enlightenments

       cloak & dagger or a Throw
                        a goose-down warmth
of Love / to blanket the night away
                           just as would a mother's tucking in
                from the day's overwhelming
lack of reverances, referenced,
             oh how to closely listen   / hear
                        beyond the history
beyond the moments end
              comparing and sharing
     our joys power of now . . .
keep it simple

because I am a simpleton with a thirst
                         with a thirst for the Beloved,
        the Truth of an endowed Tao /
Promise of Us. . .
(All gaps and platitudes)
Revised final edit
Mar 2020 · 57
horned / senryu
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
High on candy-land
Miss Sugar-lips plays all day.
Forked road like her tongue.
Revised horned
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
The Mexican with his pistol goes to a Bar and orders a beer, “amigo, let me have a Corona, hold the virus!”

We’re all in the same boat, why capsize?
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
Something we often forget
To read and learn from, to grow with,
To love and cherish,
The world is a book, a most important
One, beyond biblical stories,
Or spiritual bedlams’
Darkening our minds to never
Care to continue the saga
That’s the book of life,
If the world were a book
Read with care—the characters
The cast that collectively is
It’s heart, the world
The home that is our   Nature.
Is this a ****** mystery?
Tragedy or poetry?
What’s a good word ... beyond you and me
Beyond fear and love
What doth the truth mean
Without or within   Us?

The world is a book of strangers
And spiritual bedlam.
Collaboration with baba from YourQuote.com
Mar 2020 · 91
Limonade Rose (French)
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
La poésie est Rose
Limonade par une chaude journée d'été,
La poésie est la sueur qui
Coule dans ton cou
Alors que vous buvez profondément ...
French version of pink lemonade
Mar 2020 · 53
Pink Lemonade (English)
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
Poetry is pink
Lemonade on a hot Summer’s day,
Poetry is the sweat rolling down your neck
As you drink deeply...
Mar 2020 · 57
Elephant in the Room
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
Did you know that the elephant is the same as the mouse?? —oh yeah—Why do you think the elephant’s so frightened then, when looking down upon itself so small?
Because it sees the Power of God
Having been its self once so small...
In a blink of an eye.
It’s the elephant in the room.
Story is a lesson Life is a Story.
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
MARCH 7th 2020

It will never be the way
It Was
            Here, at Childhood’s End...

It Is the way
It Is /
        Only You whom you must depend. Def end.
It’s
      Only youth’s blind-happy Zen
It shall

Never end the way
You Are.  
                                    FiN.
Mar 2020 · 65
Aswang / senryu
Butch Decatoria Mar 2020
Her great illusion:
Youth and beauty to ensnare
Hearts and blood of men.

Wak-wak or tik-tik
Shapeshifting vampire witch...
****** Eternally.
Not all vampires **** blood, beware of Chi vampires.
Feb 2020 · 52
Dawgs / senryu
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
Homeboys and OG’s
foaming at the mouth, biting
the hand that feeds them.
Feb 2020 · 67
Cannabliss / senryu
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
Drugstores’ plethoras
Edibles, pre-rolls, and hash.
Flower turned to wax.
Feb 2020 · 46
SHENANIGANS / acrostic
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
Secretly
High-spirited
Exes
Neighbors
Acting
Nestled
Inquisitive
Guests
Amused
Nightly
Shirt­less.
Feb 2020 · 58
Tough Love (10w)
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
Break him down, then build him up—both requires strength.
Feb 2020 · 61
Post Apocalypse
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
Beneath ash dark sky:
The Unremembered halls of
Men, unforgiven...
Feb 2020 · 84
A Father’s Love
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
All that we have we cannot hold
Our material time, the physical seeds we sow
The impermanence of touch, life filled with words,
All things we learned from what most hurts
It’s only human to want, and grieve
From the depths of hollow need
But the One true thing we keep is the love
We know we must set free
It is a star in the dark of night
The beautiful memories’ shining light
No wish or want or need to be told
Cherish what hands cannot but the heart
The mind and eyes behold,
A star in a heaven made of gold...

That’s a father’s Love
Not to believe in but Know.
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
If young blood should wonder
To ask about town
The oldest trick in the book…?

Usher the boy to the encyclopedia
Away from control
The trance of hype media
The internet did not free us
(America on Lies)

Let the young kid know
Find and seek to
See for yourself - be without
Doubt
Not for nothing nor for satisfaction,
Having the answer,
No…

But if it helps
To identify your roots
Me thinks it’s a pic of your me-maw
In tassels & cowboy boots
If she’s that kind of trick &
Your pa-paw
That old dog was once
New

Tricks that learn quick
Young buck be proud
Without doubt and
The oldest most likely white &
Wise,
Though now our
Problem
Child.
Revised. Repost.
Feb 2020 · 64
SHIT / acrostic
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
Smells like teen spirit and a
Halfway house full of squatters
It’s the bomb on porcelain thrones
The white in & under the nose...
Feb 2020 · 52
The Fool
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
It’s err to be human,
And it’s err that runs amok
Our imagination toward the worst
Of thoughts, the rancor of regrets,
Not being involved
In the everyday
Human
Errs we forget
to celebrate.

Give a man choices
on what good things to do,
And perhaps he’ll forget
The worst
And laugh at the absurdities
How insignificant the hurt...

The best parts
Are those who choose
To stay and love you,
Even when we err to forget
To celebrate

The fool
That is loved is you...
Feb 2020 · 110
Yoke.
Butch Decatoria Feb 2020
Imagine what happens when
Two bodies collide in great haste

Shatter the shell
You’ll ruin the yoke.

Lust is mindless
Though blissful in feeling
What is ****** or physically pleasing
Can often ****
What’s inside
Like an idea not yet hatched or born
(We are) free of will
Yet thoughtless selfish & un-still
Un-woke

Some pleasures of the body
Will ruin the yoke.
Be mindful of your soul.
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