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 Feb 2017
Butch Decatoria
FRENCH KISS
Such buttery lips
Sweet cream-silks, wrapping our tongues,
Je patisserie.


Le VALENTINE
Red rose and sweet prose
Cyrano DeBergerac's
Moonlit balconies.


DESIRE
Burning in goose flesh
Yearnings with caldera-thirst
Your kiss is like rain.


DEBONAIR
Dean in gabled suits
Eloquent body, jazz-smooth
Sweeps her off her feet.


METEOR SHOWER
Friday night space lights
As we caress the hours
Streaks across the sky


ORIGAMI
The creases of us:
Tales of dragons and white ships
Neatly folded sheets.


VEGAS WEDDING
Romance thru sun roofs
"Hallelujah" honeymoons
Marriage number two.


BON VOYAGE
Like wide sails that cup
The high winds of this marriage
I'm at Love's mercy.


NAPE
*Warm whispers my lips
Down smooth meadows of your neck,
Sweet familiar bed.
 Feb 2017
Butch Decatoria
A Buster is busted.

Figuratively.

Mayhap way he speak.

Not just slow

Cuz he got flow

Figured out the Hustle

Keeps on and on and on and...

(An Energizer rabbit's foot.)


"Yo! This Life is Broke!"

(Swisher Blunts stunted Swoosh!)

Busters Is Busted.

Vigorously.     (Or rock-steady kool).

Tommy-guns, Polish

(Head like a hole...)

Our whips.

Our babies.

Our Peeps

The War / The Streets

The Word  itself, asleep...

Sweet Tea at the ready

They're thirsty in

CHi-Raq.
(Written the day after Martin Luther King 2017)
 Feb 2017
Butch Decatoria
BODIES NOT OUR OWN
“The thing about love is that we come alive in bodies not our own”
                      --Colum McCann (Let The Great World Spin)




How often have we departed,
Only to return for those accomplishments
Yet to be attained
in complete relinquishing of all chains.


Doubt is kicked aside like boxer briefs
Allowing our starkness to trust the ease
Of limber flight its heights
when bodies feel more of heaven
removed from themselves

as if an out of body replacement
in each other’s unexpected ache and deprivation


There is nothing more immense of touch
Than to experience it with/&/in another
To become elation and levitation without wings

Love if only a brief conjuring of taste
is better explained in skins met and kept
oddly artistic  - like fetal sleep -  its shape :
Two minds, their temples, composed and content

At their waist:  **** / umbilical / magic spent.
Hearts between them beat, overcome
by rhythms from heaven, sent…

how often than not, have we left such captions
of shared life / ecstasies
to the halls of unremembered
the ill-equipped journeys by the ignorant
by the newly seeing youth that we were

rushing ahead for bigger sensations to better
the previous fun, without caution, defunct on ***
dizzy inside maelstroms overwhelming, yet freeing...

Behaved as anyone would at losing sight
following no roads displaced eyes not to recognize;
all thoughts scrupulous doors, dreams mapped absurdly

fearless Jenga of a life, a leaf in the wind falling from Sky

naïve belief - its all good, yet lonely numb inside
still the hollow hungers and also hurts
misplaced pathos, uncaring of worth your dirt...

How do we evolve without wellbeing or love
why are we, if not measured for the crown of kings?
How often do we listen before our voice is strong enough to sing?


*Loving through gifts of our intermingled feelings
Bodies we speak wordless into being, one skein of light
From pitch dark and lost reasons, wakes to its pealing
Night is as beautiful in light’s mystic gleaning
Found in one another’s succor, two bodies divinely beaming…
 Feb 2017
Butch Decatoria
The last romantic...

Briefly departs his Shakespeare

Pages serenading sublimity

Juxtaposing the beauty of the stars

To the abyssal depth in lover's eyes

Lost in sonnet sunset

And the pentameter of lonesome sighs...

His heart must surely be a fish

Lovelorn wanting such oceans of wish.

To feel alive from being torn

Into madness A tumultuous storm....

The last romantic far from paths

And roads leading home,

Far from metropole and reality

In solitude a garden gnome...

Deformed from lack of society's

Influential propriety

Of hurry get married, of monogamy,

Grooms bride for every norm...but no.

Oh how aloof and naively blind

Dismissing the tutors' lessons in mundane life

The logic of lovelife like reasoning

These days of mail order brides,

Milfs and Latin ***** seasonings,

Are now for bid to buy (at auction price)

How is this decency or poetic

The Geometry of a fit sound mind?

(High on cloud nine, in line for a hookers time?)

Oh dear King Lear, what's happened here?

Sign of our times slow demise

Yet no one questions such schisms

Or ask why?

The illness of the romantic was once floral

It sickens with sweetness and aww

A dreamers pox deluded flight

Psychedelic was the high

(just stop all that effing rhyme time)



Perhaps it's self inflicted

Conditioned poetic days

To view all the world with love

Fauning eyes awake

Maybe in his idolatry of medieval adultery

There is a sort of peace

Of mind, of truth

Maybe accidentally it is found

Far from the madness of the heartless,

Mindless Crowds

Murdering muse and moody blues

By the numbers we color refuse and defuse

These digital days that pass in fog

Diminished worth

From fears' poison smog,

An unlived unloved life askew

Dead to chances made aloud

Tho' The perfect time is now...


Perhaps the last romantic chooses to go without

Shedding a painful tear

Detours introverted meekly feels

Avoiding any meaningful kiss

With every passion

petite mort...             a tiny death my dears

Some cannot handle such tragedy

Star crossed youth I hear are

                     All fools for love

And Still will / surely must

Die hard

Whether from wounds of doubts

Drowning in Lies of ties that bind...

Yet true love with imperfect hearts

Revere

Our Immortal beloveds

And the last romantic

Near or far away from here

Romancing whispers

Oh the lovely

Untouched years

                    Heavy as a hollow bone

Broken in perpetual wish,

His alone

A soul yet to atone a life of fear

Bewitched by drama's

*Magic Shakespeare.
 Feb 2017
Butch Decatoria
Little Lithe Leoprine
Songstress
One in the symphony of Light

She's the new borne melody
We sometimes whistle
When blithe uplifts Life

Happily out of tune

Minutes floating into liquid
As carefree as the rain
Love pouring compliments

Like skeins of midnight's moon...

We dance in the rebirth
Oceanus the perfect kisses
That touch our thirst and skin

Raziel is the beauty that we feel
As the sky's brilliant applause
Booms & Flickers lightning

Exciting yet inside silence laud
Like hush hovers in an infants room,
Golden sleep Til cherubs dawn

Love is the secret kept awake
By every parent proud,
Standing in the light

Through the doorway,
Keeping quiet keeping watch
Silence and treasures, futures bright...

Keeping faith staying true
Watching the breathing of lil
(oh when that was you)

Flawless is the beauty
When joy is all that's known
We choose to leap when we let go

Knowing well we reap what we sow
Down here below.

Shhh... Love is kept secret
When the Devils see your truth
Tiny dancer, lovely songstress,

True blue my baby boo.

Listen lithely and fearless too
To life's passions/hues
Raziel is the heart's pulsing,

(Rainbow lightning)

All within you.
 Jan 2017
Butch Decatoria
The boulevard is hollow with sounds
of a shadow falling down,
caresses late night 2 in-the-morning
as he's roaming with no purpose
but to be found
homeless yet under dark canopies' night
no wakeful eyes
with their human curiosity can witness
the part-time employment
of a piece of meat...

He has lost count of years,
the self-deluded reasons behind why
still alive
his feet are numb
his senses save for scent & tastelessness
have intertwined
as destitute as cruel as thirst
/ un-cared for
used for last, far from first...

oh where to go, and how to get there
what to do when kind arrives?
with dust of too many past lives
he's fabricated a coat of armor
dementia for his steed he rides
with shield of quick words remiss of wit
dagger of harsh emotions
self inflictions like a whip
the truth is
there's no such thing as happy endings
for a thing like him
piece of meat at markets
that cater to the web
to the beasts...

A piece of meat has no story
when it is consumed
to fill the hunger of insatiable eschewing
like teeth of wolves sharply chewing
with the voracity of fierce
unfed hunters killers thieves
for them it is easiest to capture
the **** who is blind
than discover that their food
in it’s short lived time
had a life,
complicated lack of voice
complete with name and face and choice
suddenly the price has its admission
into existence
how to consume the friend now known?
or infect another now
reflecting the flesh of brother...

There is always a choice
to be
what it is you make
yourself
                     see...
because you see:

*"no eyes doth have a piece of meat"
 Jan 2017
Butch Decatoria
Black is not one color
                           but all of 'em in one

Black is not a face nor a person,
Not a baller nor ***...

it is the period when this sentence is done .

Maybe black is the ooze
that drowns sea and fish

or is it that ***** young'un
all hungry with wish

Black is certain as black is your eye
when you're fighting just to prove your right
(or keep one's rights alive)

Oh yes, black is what makes the stars shine bright
while under it--knocking boots aside...
no matter what, love is also made
in the darkest of nights...

So why would somebody
as golden as me
care about one crayon
or a stripe of a bee?

Because if nothing is wrong
then our skin shouldn't be
or much worse  --whipped til it bleed...

There is nothing more to say,
but let each embrace teach you

Question all history, but now just do you

as long as eyes can take a look
know your neighbor, love that crook
experience and love is not from a book.

Now I'll sit next to you
since we ride the same bus,
do you get to know my color
or speak to living dust?

Black may be just a word
that fear blinds from our trust

Still all the colors in one
black is beauty under the sun,

til time is rust, til gone is done...

So speak truly and be free
Love the same as all of us
Cherish blues and greenest trees
Since we do ride that same ole bus...


No words need screams or fistful hate
Cuz Black is Moonwalking
up to the Pearly Gates,
where the boogie cannot wait

and the blind finally wake...
 Jan 2017
Butch Decatoria
Alone, washed ashore, by a storm out at sea / upon an ocean so world vast / creation / such are we...
The monster came from dark lagoons (within) / the deep / from a cyclone's cyclopic eye / microscopic minuscule / in the Atomic plane / astral, cosmic spaces:
The Gargantuan
That feeling : like a Godzilla / Dragon looking down,
looking to eat us.

The mountainous undulations (Grand Canyon roller coaster)/ and the thunderheads overhead, lightning in cotton candy / reflection / all dead / shades / of grey (swallowing itself)...

The hellish ride / upon the way towards death process

Yet the experiences most remembered, were the minutes that lit brightest, when I was made / alone / on monsoon ***** serpentine sea / monster of / "an ocean (that) swallowed my parents..."

The poet wrote about his solitude,
About that boy in the headlines:

"Survivor Makes a Storm" / "Monster-Trucks of Life"
/ ["When Towers Fell"]

"The Masters of .Com / Consumers' Industry / Of Games, A Won Not Sum"

"Defeat Will Rewrite (un-write)"
                                                          Their Mystery.
"Into The Blue / Absolut"

Nothing takes away fear like being dead... And Bobby McFerrin said : "Don't Worry Be Happy now"

We whistle in paradise, the poet wrote / the Romantics still yet all to be heard / an unfinished History / Novelties / Neverending / Story of Us

Lovely loving Love...

The Poet Wrote :  (this one here)
"Alone, Washed Ashore" - All aboard!

*(Falling Up)
 Jan 2017
Butch Decatoria
Oh this human condition,
A mortal coil it's said
          An amalgamation of contradictions....

I have witnessed as observant
A silent servant
(Like a punctuation,
A grain of sand am I then)

Debris from vast beyond
A whirl from cosmic maelstrom and
Now this here, we are
Alive as bone begotten
From stellar stones higher than
Our cloud valhallas

How relative the chaos
Stranger still for its distances
To parallel - how storms also do
Possess a spectrum.

Now this here, as a heavy carcass
With visionless eyes
As fragile as glass
Riding tornadoes and catastrophe
Like roller coasters
Blast
Off
Since
We are no longer from nothing,
We no longer fear
But third eye mind still blind
An intelligence that's forgetful

Of that of which is relative
(Living proof)
In every passage
We are mortal with
Each morning
Doors we enter thru...
(Yet few recall the lives before)

All I know is how to be
A better form of what I was just
Yesterday
When passersby keep on asking

"Did you find yourself then?"
This too shall also pass
                     Memory feels more far away
I say:

"The story's not yet done"

What path you choose, the one you love,
Is the same path
Of awe
Of beauty
Of Grace
I bare witness
To this life
Still trying to love it all


Oh woe is me!    
    (felicitously)
Oh, This mortal coil, how beloved
Life I see
               A universe of mystery
Together
We shall see
               Riding our tomorrow
Like a maelstrom
Fearless
On great tornadoes...

I bare witness
To thee. (I'mmortality)
01092017
 Jan 2017
Butch Decatoria
When we say or use the word
"perfect"
(like placing a cherry on top)
nothing more can be added
and so it must done.
Why strive so heavily to be "perfect"
the end of being one
narrative
recipe  
picture perfect views
a day or night captured
Kodak moment
flight

"perfect"
monuments of yore
award winning shot
catastrophe and history
the good and bad
had and have not's
great wonders of the world
Instagrams of pearls

In the eyes beholden much
beauty is the art
and the heart is what is touched
ever gracefully
so it goes
the very Life that flows...

She wants a perfect nose
a face to match Shakespeare's prose
I don't
want to want at all
nor do I want "perfect"
I want tomorrow and ever more
the mystery with you
finding that love is more than
footprints on the shore
I want more than what looks
"perfect"
With you love is
more

than...

absolute.
 Dec 2016
Butch Decatoria
I am an eagle with wingspans
Of impossible delights
Who argues with it it's flight

In a sky without the light
Incapable to be free

I am now a ghost
Here reading poetry
It's living years:
A breeze through eyes
Filled with tears

A gargoyle pacifying all fears
Past the night

This is a wish, a kiss, deep
A hopeful sigh
Hands bound, fingers clenched
For Love to deliver me
From here/now
To a place called perfection
Infinitely

I am fish/sparrow
Swimming in the in-between
Looking to always see...

No end to the ends

Sunrise and free.
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