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Butch Decatoria Jun 2018
A Scroll Unrolls
When in Time’s wisdom
One learns to let go
The weight of want & need
The insatiable pith of greed
And lust
The beast is yourself
To defeat
The enemy that you trust
When you must
Let go...
A Scroll Unrolls
Not one river to the soul
But all with Love
A Scroll Unrolls...
A *** Poem (cheesecake)
Butch Decatoria Jan 2020
A Scroll Unrolls
When in Time’s wisdom
One learns to let go
The weight of want & need
The insatiable pith of greed
And lust
The beast is yourself
To defeat
The enemy that you trust
When you must
Let go...
A Scroll Unrolls
Not one river to the soul
But all with Love
A Scroll Unrolls...
Repost
Butch Decatoria Nov 2020
Is it a sin to self gratify...?
Until the lower third eye spits glue
All thru the night
Madly rapaciously lascivious you

Almost desperate to find
Even when we were warned
Likely to go blind
Symptoms of a hairy Palm

When one can't come close
To transcend or feel
The ethereal bliss that glows
In the love made real

And there's no one worth it
To waste such sighs
Is it as sinful as unwanted births,
or better to self gratify?
Repost
Butch Decatoria Apr 2017
Is it a sin to self gratify,
Until the lower third eye spits glue
All thru the night
Madly repaciously lacivious you

Almost desperate to find
Even when we were warned
Likely to go blind
Symptoms of a hairy Palm

When one can't come close
To transcend or feel
The ethereal bliss that glows
In the love made real,

And there's no one worth it
To waste such sighs,
Is it sinful as unwanted births,
or better to self gratify?
Butch Decatoria Aug 2021
Asexual/ by: b. Decatoria

Is it a sin to self gratify,
Until the lower third eye spits glue
All thru the night
Madly rapaciously lascivious you

Almost desperate to find
Even when we were warned
Likely to go blind
Symptoms of a hairy Palm

When one can't come close
To transcend or feel
The ethereal bliss that glows
In the love made real

And there's no one worth it
To waste such sighs
Is it as sinful as unwanted births,
or better to self gratify?
Butch Decatoria Aug 2017
Go if you must go

Slowly now go

At your heart's pace

With good intentions

Written

Psalms upon your face

Be mindful

Open to listen

Firm with whom you know

You are

If not presently

Then go find yourself then...

If you must

Do so

So do so with love's intention

Then tell me all about it

Even past Tuesday's

I'll be here

I'll be old

But I will still love you enough

To listen.
Butch Decatoria Jan 2021
The bowl of a glass ashtray
On the nightstand
Is brimming with cigarette butts.
The bedroom smells of burnt
Tabacco.

This is what wasted
Time looks like, unkempt,
Disheveled.

Grey songs of a caged bird:
Ashes and cigarette butts
Old title Cigarettes
Butch Decatoria Apr 2021
That one's love were not real
To have dark doubts hide it.
That life, be it as unreal as--
Nowadays must run & fight for it.

(...as it were).
Butch Decatoria Jan 2021
*** is This, and who the ****
Is Chris? Is this Who you’ve been with?
The “down-low” kind of wind,
Out in the Ether listening in
To cheaters, killers, ******
“She’s like the wind”
Your love is a fickle thing,
What ev’s, I know my Tomorrow
Waits for me there
This must be a detour
What’s to learn from this
A momentary lapse of thought,
Blink blink wink.

*** with that kiss, Judas! ?
Yo bro that’s no bueno, being dissed
By thee who assumed too much of me
This is a flicker in the hummingbirds’ wings
We passing things passionate
By the feelings fraught with Disingenuous
   misinformation
   is more like
An honest mistake, not that serious,
But those whose intentions
Are —divide to conquer,
(Good liars are the worst)
All life gets plundered, we mean
Nothing to them, vice verse.

But these playing fields we **** dry
Diminished by human wishes
Themselves to please, they all Lie
Only we are the chosen to
Tend to what was once a garden
I thought everyone should know

Eden is the War-zone
X marks
The End friends on
The playing field, *** is this ??
From a virus to a virus
Men and germs
Infecting worlds and aye
I know my Tomorrow is
Not me today,
I know but not really
Know where I’m going after this
*** happened to
home ? Love ? soul?
Chris?
Am I all alone in this
A So called Eden.?
Butch Decatoria Jan 2019
Metro’s wastrel streets,
Littered with points, blackened foil;
Excremental prey.
Butch Decatoria Jan 2020
The skeins — The Dreams
The ray that Time forgets to see
For In-between
You is me
Lies & the spirit, the suffering
In this space
Every surface of our fate
(Break free)
An Ocean of brilliance
My ethereal plane
In your infinite
Your Skies of Deliverance
This moment I repose
Flesh-heavy Life kept
Unkempt—Cold
Recalling the Past
Behold!
A recluse in a box
With jaundiced Light...

FishSparrow swims in the Now
Deeper Skies
Ephemeral Scion
Beyond
All worlds One Eye.

……

Monuments
Gargantuan champions of yore
Over landscapes crowded
With worshippers
Weaponry

Wars
Having Words
Belief
A powerful spark
We fireflies
In the veil of wide night’s dark.

My spirit still / expectant
For more than flickering wisps
Willowing Whispers
Of miraculous man kind
Echoes now lifeless shadows before;

Mortal theories’s grandiose
Yet only infants afloat upon
The profound
Betweens
Go to the river
Oh the wailing for Manna

Oh Mother!
The pain of our own making

Quicksand
The minutes breaking, preying
Predilections swaying
****** in statues

The iron victors
Wield long swords
Riding marble chariots
Colossal fires upon masculine faces
Long gone
The war-cry
Carved
Over landscapes
Crowded with
Underworld
destined
To lay among stone
Hearts with
Shrunken heads

The fade of unremembered
Ghosts.
They leave seeds our fearful
Imagination
Grows

Wilderness in this hollow
Of twilight eyes
Also die

We beget hell without
Light
To tell the tale
Without brilliant love
Starlight fails when hells
All hail

Awe and Om!
Oh Mother!
Make way, the few
Futures shalom
(The Neigh will come alone
Someday soon)
Butch Decatoria Sep 2020
MmmMoan.
Y a w n.
Purrr...
How I adore our meanderings.

A Morning of misfits

Love waking to the sturdy fur of you,

Sac, pecks, abs, inner thighs,
unclad body heat.

Tho' the world outside feels absent,
your hardness
your breath
Is present
Against yesterday's 5-o'clock
shadow.

We breakfast on such sensations satin
thousand count threads
sifting and gripping sheets
creating silken
dunes of flesh creamy hues
soft mounds our twist
tied
tethered limbs
then opening passages with kisses
and humid licks
our lips:
camelback & cobra songs
to Sahara
Heatwaves
where we worship obelisks
until slumber
has rendered us
stardust and sphinx
Amused and fused our flesh
in hymns
this Sunday morning

I am
Stretching with both my hands
behind me
Clawing
buttocks raised (waiting for rain)
as if to be seen & named
one creative breath
Sunday's schooling shame,
yearning for his embrace...

Heaven forgive me
for the heaven he gives me...
Now
Exhale Olympus
Our Fallen pillars
hush.
Good morning, Love
I am

Stretching.
Eyes open wide
Stretching
Reaching out
Behind me
Reaching out for you
(Inside me)
if only briefly
knowing
the whole **** Truth…

(How I adored our meandering.)
Revised
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.
Butch Decatoria Oct 2016
Although I feel
As midlife as the crisis of my panic
Living hurriedly

Even so
I think and act like a twenty something
Pining for substance

When I realize now-a-days
This **** reality stinks
This forty second anniversary

A year of so-so
A somewhat some say sore
Wanting something more

Than invisible

Although it's true
There is wisdom with being
A lone leaf on the wind...

My rocket has yet to come
Comely
I try patience
Then think again
Bigger
Dares to dream again
Reminding myself
Believe

Of more
Of you
With me.

*(Can't wait for forty three)
Butch Decatoria Dec 2016
Thank you...  for if you knew me then,
back when I was frail of will
silence my deniable partner, my youth's imaginary friend
mute - back when I let others decide
for me what was best
if not for them

Then, for everyone else, a circle ****
of leaches & nosforatu
if only you had seen
how I avoided my life like sunlight
taking the quickest way around, no risks
rather than witness each
cacophony of sight and sounds loudly
how a soul awakens
heart hushing night... with you,

if not for you,
how I dove into black fires
of E, K, & G
wishing my days would leave me
dancing and attacking each fiberous
inch of my energy
you would understand me
now - that I am thanking you...
but luckily, you stand in my presence
my spring / of my winters clouded
often cold and uncaring
undecidedly blaring at me

You have broken the spell
for now I have a story
a life I can script in Fairy Tales
because of you, I am as open as branches
and beaches on Summer Days
sunlit happy endings and waterfalls
or of paradise to wash the grime away
I am newly fresh
born to seek my dreams and find golden
blooms of rich bouquets
days so full of quenching my future's thirst

I have learned to drink love again
for that, I thank you...

Now it is yours to nurture
only feed it truth...
Written 2009
Butch Decatoria Jan 2017
Here here!

Time to drink deeper
Life's elegant poison
The distillation
Indifferences
Quasi-Bliss, meaningless kisses
Vows long dismissed
And the distemper in slights

Eyes
Steel piercing loathing
Skull selfish
Pretenses with fake smiles
But feral quick
An itch to pounce
These Strange days's unfair fight

Human-kindness flounced

From talon to claw
I've become a **** lamb
In the fever of their masquerade ball

They're dressed to the nines
The tenth moment glowers
Eleventh hour molts
It's slime and skins
Even by knowing the danger
I'm still In

Life now feels slick
A snake eating its own tail
While Death, a rictus of teeth
Time in its hiss
(They all hail)

And now
I've become a lone buoy,
Smoke in the water / **** / deep
Adrift in this drowning,
Our ocean
Creation weeps...

I am
Raising a toast
To life even tho'
Far from shore,
I still love you so.

Sunk in their potions
Now made as tho' a mead,
Drink deep

Dark elegant poisons
The liars tend to speak

I will float upon every horizon
They cannot defeat

Cheers and Salut!

To this divine comedy...
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
[PLOT

                 on the green / Cemetery Row]

A stroll

through Carthage stones...



Gargoyles in grey gloamings

of Autumns

of Winters

of the remains of days

the done-buried

keep secret in rigor mortis  

kiss



the grave

pushing up daisies, the cherished

our cherubs below tombstones

there lays

In green tarmac flights

On crucifix runways




Mausoleums with eyes

of pyramids and storms

house the ravens watching ghosts

from above just ants below,

beneath undulating cotton lakes

Upon the soil and worms and

souls


           mausoleums...


As granite angels mime

upward in prayer

waiting in the weight of the lifeless

wake

    white marbled expressions

consternation

    of devil may care

None for statues or halos

they're capture in boxes,

coffins / all inmates

                                The American gothic gallows


Caustic the silences

once stories of beams of light

Such lives afire

now mere half paragraphs

in respite /

In unforgiven mires


[On a plot of green

in cemetery row...]


Gargoyles in the mist

these arrested flights

of wish dismissed

of effulgent life


through the spindle of an hourglass

spider-webs of fog

where I share my path

Here the haunted besides (roaming)

a land of quietude

                 futures devoid yet still turning

The cyclic times

The unlearned

dreaded cold below


[On a plot of green, Cemetery row...]


Rest will happen

but my spirit is a phoenix

Great flocks of birds


Asphodels


Whilst

taking a stroll...

Past plots of green,

        In cemetery row


How such silences scream :

         the fallen :

death's blanket of snow.


[Carnage. &. Stone.]
My submission piece for Hellopoetry.com.
Could be considered a holloweeen kind of poem too....
Butch Decatoria May 2020
[PLOT
          on the green / on Cemetery Row]

A stroll
through Carthage stones.:

Gargoyles in grey gloamings
of Autumns
of Winters
of the remains of days
the done-buried
keep secret in rigor mortis  
kiss

the grave
pushing up daisies, the cherished
our cherubs below tombstones
there lays

In green tarmac flights
On crucifix runways

Mausoleums with eyes
of pyramids and storms
houses the ravens watching ghosts
from above just ants below,
beneath undulating fog-cotton lakes

Upon the soil and worms and
souls
           mausoleums...

As granite angels mime
upward in prayer
waiting in the weight of the lifeless
wake
    white marbled expressions

The consternation
    of devil may care

None for statues or with halos
the captured hearts in boxes,
coffins / the inmates
                                American gothic
Gallows
Caustic the silences, secret speak
Life once stories of beams of light
Such vibrant lives afire
(now mere half paragraphs)
in respite / Despite
unforgiven mires

[On a plot of green
in cemetery row...]

Gargoyles in the mist
these arrested flights

of wish dismissed
of effulgent life

through the spindle of an hourglass
spider-webs of fog

where I share my path
Here the haunted besides (roaming)
a land of quietude
                 futures devoid yet still turning
The cyclic times
The unlearned
The dreaded cold below
[On a plot of green, Cemetery row...]

Rest will happen
but my spirit is a phoenix

Great flocks of birds
Asphodels

Whilst
taking a stroll...
Past plots of green,
        In cemetery row
How such silences scream :
         the fallen :
death's blanket of snow.

[Carnage. &. Stones.]
Revised edit, final.
Butch Decatoria Jun 2016
Concussed by the "Bus."
No Heisman post CT scan.
J E L L O.
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
Butch Decatoria Aug 2020
(Never say never…)
She says never, I says wat evs.
If never ever were Always and forever,
We’d be ****** now, upside down side ways,
All the hours of night and all day, never say
Never ms. Clever
You’ll only miss out, make your ***** swoon
Without a doubt, I’ll swim your
Summit’s warm lagoon.
Never say for whom you’ll die,
Upon your doom, no eyes, nor light of  insight
Never is a deep dark well
It’s an empty wish in a starless night,
Never said by dead but soul in flight
The truth no word can speak
But do unto you, what’s good and right...
I am beatnik
Butch Decatoria Oct 2020
Play the long game to have deeper meaning
To live fully being human being
This mortality of flesh & feelings
To truly see
Your life
Without Doubt
Love is what life is about...
Butch Decatoria Sep 2019
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…
Repost
Butch Decatoria Apr 2017
A gangly youth with his dangling
Truths
Star Spangled
Flagpole
In the far corner

Summer nudists'
Cabins'
Cafeteria

Ladies not biting
Their webs
To his fly

Now noticing the nudist
Silver Theme
As daddy foxy
Ladies
are not goyles

Most nudists are old
And have let go
Fat shaming jokes
Turns into a game
Yo mama
so....

Cougar sells
Her Jaguar / Grand Prix
She so cougar
She's an expensive lease

For summer nights
Crap shot
Tossing
Fun
waste of time,

A gangly youth
Will spill
The truth
His danglings
Dip and spit
Viscous
Losing your ******
you
Star spangled
Flagpole

Can only tell
The honest erecting
The hard evidence
UFO sightings
Full
proof

It's in the pudding
Truth is ecstasy
Speaking deep inside
The gangly kid now
A wrangling man
Lassos a harem in his pants

His dangling truths did just fine

Gangly youth drunk off
Silken wines divine
Moist of kiss
Passion blooms
of touch

Honestly, the truth is

Quivering love
My Inner howl
Feel the earth move

Under my feet
Truth is

'will

always run to you...
Butch Decatoria Aug 2016
Flora's be-dazzler.
Bright bouquets' light blush of snow:
Mum's exhalations.
Butch Decatoria Sep 2019
Sweet Babygirl, the world’s become
Mean
Hey daughter where you been?
What you love above
House & prairies?
I see you down with it now
Trickin’ your treat
Mean
Muggin’ Mad *******
Taking a beating
Drinking with bruises
Numbing
Until her eyes can’t see
20/20
Mind can’t think
Stuck on black
Sweet baby girls
Gone sour.
Butch Decatoria Sep 2021
Tell me a story about your bag of feelings
The wheeling and dealing
How it pains you, how it drains you
Of your soul —the crime that frames you
Stealing and killing the meaning of life
Tell me about your bag of feelings.
Right…

Lost story of your feelings,
The empty hollow congealing
A shadow without light,
Lies
Dies. (Without Light)
Worthless bag of feelings…
Plight.
Butch Decatoria Oct 2020
“How Divine! Such Grace!”
The Word cannot embody,
Ballet when God speaks.
Butch Decatoria Aug 2021
Such Grace, so Divine,
The words cannot embody,
Ballet when God speaks.
First title : Nijinsky
Butch Decatoria Sep 2019
Believer or not, **** happens
And then it hits the fan
Nincompoop narrations **** news
Alcatraz turns Hollywood tours
Nightlife street food
A craze of tastes du jour
Split or pealed, monkeys drool like crazy...
Butch Decatoria Feb 2021
An indigent old man, in a drunken stupor, with the grime of the streets on his skin, with twigs and **** in his beard, indecently exposes his junk. And a cardboard sign saying he’s hungry.

The flasher from the window of a motel, opens the curtains for the lunch crowd to view his flaccid, Rolly Polly obesity, just standing there Full Monty, ******* his thumb. The audience grow restless, having had a laugh, they begin to grumble and point their fingers with concern angering their faces.

The **** bearded *** points along with the crowd, “hey look! There’s a streak—burp! —in the window there! Look! Heheh.”
“Your fly’s undone dude,” claims a passerby.
“*******! No flies will come, it was just a movie!” His **** still hanging out.

In the nursing home, sometimes old age can’t catch up with the fact that everything seems like it’s slowly melting, especially them home folks’ skin.

A sagging sad white haired lady, with nothing on, holding on for dear life, stuck in her walker, in the middle of the hallway right before the lunch crowd. “Help Lifealert!”
Come Comedy Comely.
Butch Decatoria Dec 2017
All eyes widely stare
At Abercrombie models,
Them beautiful boys.
Butch Decatoria Nov 2017
Bugsy's dream                                Operatic fountains synchronized streams
                                                     Dead music legends interpreted by cirque
                                                     glamour the eyes neon and distractions

gangster's paradise
imploded and expanded                  stars in the sky out shined by fluorescent sands

desert roads in summer throes
craps and snake eyes
piercingly like void venom              artifice and slots easy as swallowing shots
                                                     life: a machination of mannequins
electric pulse of a new heart
as mob money mobs                        sincerely catering service champagne rooms
since greed barely sleeps
and lust is always hungry...             it be only history now viral and industry

sin city  
once only an idea, a peanut
from - y'know - "like whoa! what the frank??..."
but gotta hand it
the business took                            legit crooks, stashing books, making whoop...
dream getaways by blue moons      
in blue pools
privacy like freedom is a pension crap toss
EXPENSIVE...

where those blind to consequence
can witness
(convertible caddy)
the highway to losing grace              seeing is half believing when gambling
                                                       feels like a game, and the surroundings
                                                       rarely change.
Where the indifferent ego
Idled by self
becomes a parasitic pretender
talented liar
actor to some...                              walking among
                                                      the vapid vehemency of true victors & kings
brilliantly glamourized
in billboard lights
numbingly blinking                          hypno hyper active analogues
                                                      of high def diminishment
of common folly logic
displacia of senses
fairy-dust of forgetting                   (in a Benjamin straw)

duty discarded
familial responsibility a hollow weight
a close second to desperations

the hustle was once a dance

the true crime and you
metro and the fool
willing food                                   flash floods and tour buses full

just to be had

gangster pimped out a city
called it "the table"
dubbed by sin
stole some cash

catering to our vices / service entrance in the back

"What happened in vegas...?"

some call it  being had ...
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
Is Nothing a place ?

The person

No where's to hide

Inside

A Light

Because now nothing is

Impossible,

A Never's Been.

There is no fear

What the nightmares seen

Because Everything is

It just is

A profundity of brighter dreams

Light shines absolutely

Love is more

Some things are better than

Never's Been

Nothing

Before...
Butch Decatoria Aug 2018
If the wizard of Oz was a fraud, we might get lost in Oz. So begs the question: “was the miracle of Oz real, or all made believe-in-me?”
*** Poem GreySkull.
Butch Decatoria May 2017
I would of liked to have said good byes
Look upon your face into your eyes
Looking for my little princess somewhere in there
I want to tell her I was sorry

Before I leave

I want my baggage to be light as air
No strings to bring me worry
When recollecting the most memorable
Letting **** go, most amiable

Before I leave

The America that fostered me, Disney made believe
My hopes heart filled with 3-D colored dreams
I hope to give my thanks even on the other side
The world might end while closing the eyes

Before I leave

I would rather not have any need of all that
Find myself in all this, happy at that...
I would of liked to have waved goodbye
As I fly away ... Heartbroken in the sky ...

Before I leave

I just want to know "why?"
What did I do so wrong? Did I hurt you?
With my "such a user" usefulness, a deadbeat dad,
Reasons running away with the ghosts of us

The ones that haunt me still (eek-gad!)
I will let go / of - flying home past the clouds
I will look down and feel how small I'm now
and how wonderful the world I see!

Before I leave...

*(it's not about me)
Butch Decatoria Jul 2020
Firecrackers pop!
Cherrybombs' loud, go kaboom!
Neighbors kept awake.
Butch Decatoria Jan 2019
Forgiveness is forsaken

By all

Knowing love Is unconditional

Showers down on us

Like cats and dogs

Quiet storms

From father’s mothering

Gone now from above

Goodness gracious be

Infinite the sky to see

Cloudy days, stars at night,

Supposedly

Life Is written in illuminating light

Across the vacuous void

Proofs and blooms of nebulae

The shapes of the known

Formulae

A Universe within

Forgiveness not forsaken

Perhaps forgotten

About the times of us

Milky ways

Swirling dance of dust

Who’s asking

Who for whom

Bells tolling tongues

Naming the wizard a man

In odds within

Oz

Looking for idols of immunity

No way out but falling

Up

Or In love

The rain seems the only thing

Forgiving

Lately

Its begotten cold.
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
Pardon those who stare
Such quixotic features laud
Eyes that escape us.
Butch Decatoria May 2020
Why try being cool now
When you can be You. ?
Butch Decatoria Oct 2019
Birdlike spirit beyond confinement
Emergence from within flesh, exuding
Lithesome dancing fire, alive and brilliant
In some elsewhere plane of existence
Even though a string that begins from here
Veils of human blindness diminishes that
Energy, souls die when shells lie, or drown in fear.

If there’s nothing more beyond this passing
Nights starless, sky without flight, love’s lacking...(Light)
Butch Decatoria Jul 2020
No matter what stature
Small matters
Be the bigger man

Tell them laughing
Around at you

"My thumb's bigger than Tom's.
So is my *******!"
Flip 'em the bird, man...

Or you could be the wiser, bigger man,
The better man
As small as you are

No matter the size
You're a star!
Man...
"it's good to renew one's wonder," said the Philosopher. "Space-Time travel has again made children of us all." --Ray Bradbury.
Butch Decatoria Jan 2016
Burning up with hate
like an oil spill on one's soul
heartless mouths pollute.
Butch Decatoria Apr 2017
Enjoys

peaches, pudding

Pies, tapioca,

But

often sups

on beef.
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