Today is the first and the last day. Just now.

It’s like onions

Your poetry

Gots Layers!

That poet’s heart.

Red Balloon / by: butch decatoria


Remember
When every touch
with all its good intention
and kindness;
We were once
Tender
Like lips at first kiss,
      deeply we dive...
inside / one another's eyes,
Seeing with feelings
Past the weight of fevered flesh:
          A dervish flight
through those walls
layered with doubts, heavy
as the stones
we since turned our hearts into...

Remember when
Every word
          was lovingly spoken,
an uplifting wisdom
like feathers’ wings:
      the soft music of our mouths,
when life was floating
lanterns
and briefly we‘re kept far
A/part
And still you have me soar.

Remember, when we are finally as one,
     whole, a hearth warm,
and ****
      those wet silences
      become undulating music like
                   the times we demure
our mouths still drinking, singing
instilling lessons
      within the depths of Heart’s thirst,
which only absolute certainty
calms and quenches… remember

Keep your light so bright to carry on,
      knowing tomorrow will come
      yet when I'm with you
I am made new,
Even in the dark where stars burn
    
supernovae

         Remember
when
in the break of morning
As eyes open from trenchant sleep
           (better than adrift or hollow)
Remember, how stunning that view
            inhale—surprised like
Awakening to life's wonder, that...
To thee and thine,
fearlessly I say
                depart and drink in
                the rain
     freedom love,
the sky and eyes will awake..

And if we have yet to meet,
since I know
           Truth and believe in Love,
When I fall for you,
       Thank all the heavens vast, I fell for you,                                  
                      I will fall up...
Because I remember
now,
it's you,
Lovingly    loving    
Love,
who fills my very cup,
floating in the drink
of Us.
                                          (God how I love you).

Knowing what you do

Not just

Doing what you know...

Silver spoon-fed fixations

Littered wasted City,

Unliving concrete habits

Mean street habitations

Blackened foil, thin rabbits

Syringes and broken glass,

Cigarette butts with

Felatio-Red lipstick stains

The age-rings of Sin City,

Like great trees

Of iron

A bright forest of filthy.

Hate & taint in between city,

Homelessness and transience

Broken system without pity

Hell's ****** relations,

Silver Spoons

Feeds fixations...

I feel like...

I dance the body, electric
to get closer to the intimate
soul's vast thunder / for I am
liquid lighting
a storm's expression of atmospheres
and farther galaxies
illustrating sensations as near
as this skin in flux
in sheen's slick wet veneer
quick silver -- body cataclysmic ...
release.

I am the pulse of life
in electric veins that cradles
the flesh heavy breathing heart
like none other alive
before or ever again
manufactured replicants...

I am every stroke every shape
of non-existent clocks
stretching us to keep and wait...
we are malleable Artwork
in Creation's amorphous frames
experiences
supreme and above
yonder words
giving empty praise, applaud
of passing sound waves...

For I am adoration
in all your eyes and lifting sighs
I dance the body, levitation

When Love is the song your lips ignite

Light and lightning holidays
rivers of higher realms
kingdoms of heavenly your kiss will tell

Bodies in cosmic flight
both day and night and afterlife

Perfection is the bed where this made
Life and heavenly love
shines forever and a day -- will reign
Your thunder, my lightning
will wash the wyrms **** and mud
oh wonder
oh always

Touch is proof and my cup overflows
with all the gifts and grace

And I am spiral galaxies
star diamond fires -- a body of Art
All in always as one of every kind
with every name
sacred hearts
eternal flame

a universe is made

In us as One
the body
Dance electric
praising All
your loving ways...

(come privately and say out loud my name)

The scent of strong coffee reminds me of the mess hall on the Cleveland; smells of sausage and powdered eggs.. but its the deep brown of that "ground" whether the beans columbian or Starbucks from africa, early mornings now are remiss at 10am.
Pour a bowl of rice cereal, crackling in the milk ... My breakfast with the price is right on the hd flatscreen... The winners and applause motivate the late sleepers, wake and bake --wothout the chaos of fusion kitchens... I miss the smell of coffee in the early morning, on the pier, the brine of pacific highway beaches... Cali a far away dream...
Vegas smells of sin, **** and swill, sweat and skunky trees, smoke gets in the eyes,
Boys didnt cry... Why i wonder. A distant thunder, coastal storm,
Its the sound heard
From lives torn asunder....
Filthy as the ground, thoughts that stay awake with strong
Coffee
Grounds...

Ain’t it all ****-glorious!

A beautiful morning to you

Mr. Velvet suit

Softly breezy too

What bout bamboozled

Mr. Velvet suit on the street

That **** corner foo,

Looking for your boo?

Mr. Velvet suit

Your babae making babies

From **** jazz to city blues

Diminishing cool

A little bit more sad

The only lone piano

(Black crescendo just a half key, so b-minor)

Mr. Velvety is an entrepreneur

I doubt he'll sue her

That girl he got all dressed up for

The sweets

Mr. Velvet suit's candy

Shop

Holding down the bizness

The Streets!

Mr. Velvet suit's company

Don't he dress all nice for you?

A bright summer morning

This here tiny corner of a bruise,

Of a great wide world

Sin City and Mr. Velvet suit.

Good morning!

****** ****.

He Escalades as I walk

The dog

Looking for tricks…

Something which stimulates.
The Governmental Giveaway!
It's a free-for-all
Masticates into cancerous fraud,
United States for criminals.
Lady Luck is a thieving ****,
Uber suburbanites,
Stylish Vibrators.

What’s within spills out,
without sails a lesser ship...
Popped your cork too soon.

Old beads full of faith
in brown countries of her hands;
on her knees she prays.

Still-borns in liquid
For love, luck, or pregnancies.
In tiny glass jars.

"I cannot wait to see tomorrow, but I will live like I just couldn't wait" --B.Decatoria

Mercy knows to leave.
While Pity holds your hands built
with abandon. Heart.

****** Heels

Streetwalker quickstep
In knee highs
Click clack tap tap
On the fly
Her cacophony echoes
Down the night’s hollow alley
Cat caught by black
Cadillac
Hurry on in
That pimped out coffin
Streetwalker
Quick
Steps.

Do you follow what you believe,

A follower saves no one, praying for divine relief

Oh

"No body knows the trouble I've seen..."

Do your beliefs beg to follow steps toward

A heaven created by a collective fantasy

Human ministry

A reward for not doing

"Bad deeds"

The road to hell is paved...

Here

The wilderness and kindness slowly fades...

With Good intentions

Oh

I meant to, never was good @ dat

Do *** ****** do the dew

The deeds need done

All good ones...so

Believe or follow

No one

But true to thy self is true to all else

Shadows follow

Believe you are the

Sun....

Feed the needy everyday

With truth every way

Believing need not pray

And knowing

Builds our better days...

Life follows

The sun.

I make smiles from shattered eyes
cry December's distracting 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 each command
we smoke our feelings into dust,

this boy is weak yet worships you,
who opens darker gates to breed.

Then enters light, that stirs, confused,
my tears to scream still go unseen.

i am a wish of hearts refused,
the sound of fallen poetry...

He is more than a name

A candle is more than its flame,

We can be much the same

Not playing the game blame

We are more than individual

Two beget One breathing visual

Now recognize no shame

For their love has a name

*We are children of....

Fearless ageless

No darkness barking nightmares

In your beauty

Sleep.

More torso than legs.
A strong short drink of a man.
Frothy mug of beard.

(Pondering Worth)

Money does not make someone better than another who has less of it, money in itself cannot "make" anything at all. Yet it has unmade human kindness, damnable men and taxes.

If it's supposed to be "Do unto others as you would--done unto you.." The Golden Rule then presumes to say that All are equal.

There's no quantification or monetary value when it comes to "Life" it just IS or Isn't (alive). It's no one's business, it has no business. So then, begs the question Why do Men think themselves better or above it, divisively deciding what or who has the right to?
What is Man if not Alive? Why?
Who speaks for creation when men go to destroying the Garden?

An Uplifting language

Of baggage:

Poetry.

Some are spoken at waking

Some are felt rather than heard.

The word:

Poetry.

Proud face of cliff side,

Mandrake in formaldehyde

recognizing selves.

Faith is like Knowing the sun shines
Though storm clouds block it from view
Overwhelming you with fear
You know how it felt
Having the warmth of the sun
The light upon you …

Knowing wholeheartedly what your eyes cannot see
Believing
What you feel,
Like love, faith is as real.
And others may not
Care to understand or demand proof,
or be shown the way,
You’re not responsible for them.
Each path has differing destinations
Don’t lose sight of your
Passion/truth...
Where your heart may lead you...
To be or not to
With or without / purposely live,
Knowing wholeheartedly now

Love gives
meaning to life.
Have faith, inside there's light.
You'll see...

(Sight beyond sight)

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…

Microwave popcorn,
Buttered. Friday Night Netflix.
Alone to download.

Oh hollow Thirst!  

How it drowns out life's liquid scenes,

All trenchant memory now

It dries the tongue;

          When recollection swims with dire aches

          In the stomach lingering

Deserts  

          once oasis-providence:

the ease of us

sifting with the sand

Minutes limpid between caress.

Creation our chalice overflows

Quenching in each other.

Love for water.

As the hours go touching vastnesses

To open us / one heavenly sky :

Illuminating you

Both assuage and succor, mine.

But I am drought and man

          Flesh heavy / crawling through

         War's searing hills

         Chafed of what made me fearless . . .

         Once a Traveler discarding haste,

Still Thirsting for the palm trees’ shade, the momentous

Still-pictures of bodies of ours we felt and

Still continuously feeling.


It is as though an affliction’s game

To wait

Between search and weaning

No swift elixir

I am just a bare tree leaning.

(praying for love's rain...)


This Thirst is deeper than remembering

The drink that once was Us.


.  .  .  .


Halcyon,

I’m bathing in your adoration,

Nothing so sinful, or minuscule, as to need

Redemptive rinses of the spirit

When we were

As what we only knew how to be,

Ourselves yet together sharing feasts...


Which we lay out for each other

Ceremonious only through the unveiling,

Knowing how to trust in this  (which is between us).


Oh How to feed that old hunger, The longing for you,

Love soft mornings dew on skin,

Like when we had the outdoors with our mischief, bodies

Attentive as the grass when we look within…


Those bright eyes that pierce me deeper now

Understanding / how my breath always quivers

With the slight tips of your tender fingers.

Wish makes the body famished and weakened

Needing

The food from in between kiss and spark

Lovely of smiles that shares heaven’s glee,

In each other’s sensations, feeling the answer

Rather than being told to eat…


The Reveries of wines tasted, the lifting of all things

To a memory, yet not having the full course

Of dining with serenity, finding that destiny

Has yet to begin

When love was the race I was questioning,

Kindnesses were supposedly human,

While dreams came true with happy endings..?



Hunger can make the world seem cruel

When we give up on searching for meaning,

We ourselves make

The feast of All meals

with our believing.

C inch the boys in their place,

O bjectified / attentions indecently like proposing

C rows these proud chicken heads loudly

K illing the blood-flow / frozen still

R idgid hoses, denying it

I rrigation or relief

N either giving it room to breathe

G orged on ***,  in a pulsing noose...

Creation, I'd like
To talk to you as a friend
But all our conversations

Have Become Fear and Death

And you know them two
Won't be a friendly kinda talk
at all...

Accidental
  Beatnik
    Chance-
                   Dancing...

Money does not make someone better than another who has less of it, money in itself cannot "make" anything at all. Yet it has unmade human kindness, damnable men and taxes.

If it's supposed to be "Do unto others as you would--done unto you.." The Golden Rule then presumes to say that All are equal.

There's no quantification or monetary value when it comes to "Life" it just IS or Isn't (alive). It's no one's business, it has no business. So then, begs the question Why do Men think themselves better or above it, divisively deciding what or who has the right to?
Why is Man if not Alive?
Who speaks for creation when men go to destroying the Garden?

The beautiful thing
About love
Be it ethereal & divine
Be it a ruse or lie
Stealing us away from
Our kismet shine
Everywhere
It's everything, so
Follow lovingly
With heart & eye
For love is
An ocean quite brilliant
See & freely choose
A path for you
To follow
Love is
A beautiful thing...

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)

In the void of pitch dark,

Lurking

Itching to ****-switch

Human life

All that kismets Light

It watches in

The dark of dreams

When we fall

In between sleep,

It’s seething

With the devil’s hate

For light of lives

Within, without.

It covets in wait

Vespine Eyes.

Like the shadow under the mountain

Our human affinity to darkness

Seems as heavy as loss itself

Like watching locusts gorge on summer fruit

Feels less and less a home

More and more alone

Like the shadow under the mountain.

"Life is a real
                           Dream Come True."

Don’t you just love the loud chewers
Who chew and talk at the same time, love it right?
Then here comes Covid like Santa Claus
Just ruining everything—my adolescent tantrums...
Then they take credit for having survived it
Anyway Covid is leaving us lump some of charcoal, empty, cold.
“See! Told ya so!
So,There is a reason why we eat with our
Mouths closed.
Less splash of spittle, please!
There’s a Germaphobe present—“

Don’t cha just love it
Them ****** loud chewers,
And ******’ mouth breathers...
Nuked by forefathers and ****
Science, their virulent hatreds
Designer genetic babies styled to
Your faves liking.
Designer bio warfare, just because.
Don’t cha just...? M m m.

AT REST



[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

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 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 /
                                Americana gothic gallows

Caustic the silences secretly speak
Life once stories of beams of light
Such vibrant 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 effulgence in 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. &. Stone.]

Unfolding...

I am mourning before the dawn
unveiling
crumpled bedspread sheets
a hollow space
where comfort once found
your slumber deep,
I find an echo
of your breath
as my tears interrupt
a yawn / a stretch

while trust feels like a home
invasion,
a **** save for the flesh...

I am a trail of moisture
upon the cheeks, the searching
throughout a graveyard home
yielding empty halls,
bleak,
of no fruition / a tomb;

I am the ache within
Darkly,
My harsh and sordid
imagination / disambiguations
roaming
To thoughts of you
in someone else's fever
a slicing cut that opens
and equals that pain

unleashing avalanche of blood
but it's only a crimson thought
which floods,
again & again...

I’m in that home, now
kept unkempt
like the dust on portraits’
sepia gloom… and
the sound of bare feet
clapping
hardest upon wooden floors

In a saloon
lacking conversations
without a care taken
of why / from where / or whom

I once had strength
which waned
Like the more ocean waves
punch the cliffs and shore,
my reserves began again to drain.
I collapse into bed,
On pillows, lay.

I am the hope which wants
what once had breath before
Long ago
the loud cry— begotten prayers
to ancestral sky
fearful Old hearts and minds
One’s life alive yet
Afraid
to die….in due Time
           
I am a tomorrow of love yet made

inept of any trust
I have been blind told to break...
(My iron will to rust)
I am alone
since gone are those yesterdays
you romanced such secrets
with escapades
(grinders found in spades)
I am the hush that must escape
never getting to know
the calligraphy & the colors,
all the facets of love's very face,
unfeeling
replaced

I am a violin
from some distant space,
far and away
a wish
a yearning
as California’s burning
whilst
Asking kindly

Love me
if only
for the sake of today
for I am
lonely...
for I am the light
each night

unfolding...

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.

Where each Choice begins,
some are quick to find its end,
the wise journey on.

She lays the baby
In her crib, while father reads
At bedtime, stories.

Her age, the years
She's collected upon her wrinkled hands
Memories flickering
As she traces the decades and
Almost a century
Upon the mirror she faces
The graying of Grace
When left to it's own devices
How loneliness slowly
Feeds off the tears recollection
Becomes malady & enemy
She abandons tracing her years by finger
Retract mental claw,
Rather without reason instead
Gaze into her own eyes
A reflection from whence she recognizes the youth she was
The beautiful the newness
Of awe, not fear,
A life she reflects upon ..  
At the ends of our dreaming, at the edge of it's landscape...
The unknown, why fear ? Flying not toward death
But wake to a new breadth...

Flaxen hair like leaves
Fall dead from winter pear tree.
Chemo white Christmas.

I'll make a poet

          Out of you / just yet.

Sisters, brothers
Fathers, mothers
Friends and beloved other
Birds of a feather
No matter the weather
We are here together

We suffer the same
Each of us to blame
The shame of losing truth
Allowing “them” to continue
To set foot inside the gates,
Disguised as though good
Excuses as human as soot
Endangered lives too late
Worshippers of lustful hate.

What is it that motivates
Those of you mindless heartless lifeless
Devoid of love’s grace?
Where for are thou
Oh human kind, racing to
The burning lake
Take take take
Mine mine mine

Who ******* cares anyway?
Just another day we prey
And slay the precious thing called
Life…
No cheese in this maze
Just rats devouring one another
In a cage of do as the Bible says
No questions asked
When all play the end game
Evil sits in First class…

We all bleed in wait
Suffer the same, til the very last
Of the devil’s wake
Witness the time pass
Drained of humanity
Aghast!

The matters of family
As we run on empty
Silent at mass.
Brothers sisters fathers
Fracking strangers and jacked…

I see you lie

With that pop-eye

Mad ******’

Ready to bite

Haunch body in a strange shape

Warped

Rictus

Stretch-faced

Full of ugly

Hate

A deformity

To those who most

Resemble

To the assembled ghosts

A disfigurement

Within

I see you...

(Withering)

In my opinion, Filipinos are generally
Jealous
That predisposition to
"not having it"
But I'm the kind of Mistiso soup that warms you up
Inside
Who has treasures beyond
This half heaven / modern hell called Life (in pockets)
Those indentured to possession & Need
It's the chain that keeps it's hooks
In us - butterfly & poetry...

When the music dies
Become anew, a kind of dance
Perhaps from dreams / perchance come true...
From mini Filipino Me,
Late bloom cool
Lotus, my other name
Without shame within
The rain
The ocean
The island sun
Bright eye of fullest Moon,
Tides in-between flesh & twilight
A twin to gold
A Most enboldened fool.

Irish Filipino Me, not fresh off the boat,
But an American akin to Hope.
Half-breed
Irie-Flippin' Me
I am Love's Phoenix
Fasho
"I see
You," She says
I feel you
I say --soon will see
I do
I bleed
A spoke on the Wheel,
Clover Green and Sulu sea.
Hybrid swim
Irish Filipino Me.

Under Country flag and fried steak tastes

Meaty hooks and ham hocks refined

A morsel of tender cuts fine

Menu for the carnivore splendors

Infused, sauté, marinated in wine…