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Mar 2017
Sunday poolside

Prelude for tomorrow's Spring,

It's first day, midway in March,

Weeks away from the month of May.

And I decide to cool my inner heat

In the gurgling soup of the jacuzzi

Whiles the unaccompanied tweens scream

And play a made up game

A hybrid of polo basketball and puberty...

No clue how conversations start,

But a friendless me talks and talks

Unable to stop, even when they disperse...

I talked to myself mostly,

Or if they were listening, the ears that heard,

Advice on life, trying to wake up the herd

The void wears a teenager's face

And in the sounds of summer

This prelude day to Spring,

Splashing and laughter and a toddler's cooing

I observe my voice drifting

Up and through the fence of steel bars

Eroding, rust colored water

On grey cement and murky turquiose...

I talk and it feels like I'm under water

Their attention span as transient

As Vegas itself...

I talk about myself honestly,

I gave them real advice

From the mistakes of friendless me,

what it will take to succeed

For a future they could care less about

And Life!

Must of talked about nothing

Talked mostly to myself

The day before spring, all heat and not much else,

I felt something hollow then

Recognizing Hell

The void mimics reality well



when was it I fell?

*(Sensing greys in their shells... The rising heat...

Midnights distant tolling... Trumpets and bells)
Butch Decatoria
Written by
Butch Decatoria  47/M/Las Vegas, Nevada, USA
(47/M/Las Vegas, Nevada, USA)   
395
   Mary Winslow
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