Beautiful humans
here we are,

fraught with eternal upheaval,
behemoths of the soil,
the same soil
we so daringly corrode and replant daily.

is this what you imagined we would become?
have we been able to see through
all the pain and glory,
deviance and
delicate rage,

and come out better for it?

beyond the glimpses
of joy and
misery,

how much have we changed?

dear beautiful humans,
so
strange and remote;
yet close and
familiar.

brother to my left,
sister to my right,
hope to the front and
difference to
the rear,
is this not the ideal?

who are you,
what have you become,
what will you do with
the gift,

here we are,
beautiful humans,
look up at me,
look up from your safe little
silence,
from your concocted prison of
narrow perception,

tell me we are
real;
when everything feels
superficial and
tainted.

fragile beautiful people,
a mass of tender confusion and
lusting for the right way,
how many times
must we throw barbs and
dance in a
wicked moonlight?

how i know that deadly foxtrot, too.

look up at me,
tell me we are worth the trouble,
do we see who we really are?
am I not just a marauding crooner
singing to the empty rafters?

Have we all sang our last song?

Beautiful humans,
so mighty and yet so exhausted,
souls thirsting for reform for it seems
we have lost sight of the sky.

here we are,
beautiful humans, long lived outside
the garden,
from ground dwellers to builders of
empires,
yet the infinite war rages on
and
my last faith remains intact
if only because
I've been convinced
of something
beautiful found
within you and me.

I helped a turtle cross the road today.

Black shell, tiny clawed feet,
yellow strip on either side of its head,
negligent in his actions, I intervened.

but I couldn't help the dying man beat
his cancer,

the turtle, impervious to the danger all
around,
trodding valiantly across his desert,
taking my hand, as we dared the world to try and
conquer us,

but I couldn't prevent the war from
murdering the innocent,

Resolute, purposeful, how we moved
to safety, defying the oncoming cars and
preserving one more day, at least we hoped,

yet I couldn't give the abused child a promise
tomorrow would be just fine,

and I released that turtle into his fortress of high grass and marsh,
he nodded,
and disappeared into the overgrowth,

what would become of that bold soul?
and would he remember me?
what would become of the world?
and would the turtle tell his tales of
encountering the sick one so long ago?

he knew something I didn’t,
and that was he couldn't save the world,
he could only paddle on and hold strong to the belief
there was always a
helping hand
ready to reach out
at just
the right moment.

Deep in the pit,

is the place to dine on
those lovely woes,

and
rise to levels,

previously hidden

behind
the
facade
I
was
doing it right all along.

So in the
pit

is where I’ll lay
for
awhile,

where I’ll ponder
for
awhile,

where I’ll ****
the worst
of me,

where the worms will
speak the truth
and
devour false hymns,

polished and beaten
bare like the earth,

a fresh brewed cup
of second chance,

and

perhaps when you're ready
to forgive,
I’ll come up out
of that pit
and be
that man
you always
knew I
could be.

She tasted akin to the death; a
bullet knows when it hits the flesh;

merciless and delicate,
a gorgeous fatality everytime.

and she knows her power;
and she flaunts it well with luscious intention.

she laughed at my mortality, as the wave
laughs at the sad pathetic row boat cast unwittingly into
the cyclone,
for she is a jovial feline set to
feast;

and i dig it, and i surrender my flesh for
her satisfaction. and if what I offer falls short,
then
i want to know nothing else but
a pretty death.

The great dictatress gives willingly, like a scarlet
Mother Teresa,
providing transient solace the way a
serpent tightens its coils around
that one last breath;

her pious sustenance
kept me sane, at least in my own eyes,
while she dangled me on her lips
and
told the world I was
her
most dedicated captive.

my white flag conceded my defeat,
a defeat which felt more like a resurrection within
the flesh of something more powerful than thunder and
peace;

The chains of love are thick, but they sure
deliver the last meal
I
crave.

When the bones plead to settle
under the blue moon,

I watch the waves shudder and censor their
song,

I think my time here has
been
wrapped and neatly tied in a bow,

and I have no one to give myself to.

When the hot cauldron spills
over onto my chest,
where flowers no longer
bloom,

the blue moon laughs its loudest.

the oar guiding my way
has
been swallowed by the teeth of
uncertainty,

I look, I peer into the mire of insanity
chasing the one trustworthy rhythm,

among the many mercenary wales,

that will keep me moving,
moving not just forward like the
beleaguered soldier,
fighting some distant war waged
by the
infidelity of impulse.

yet here i go,
yelling curses at the pursuing blue moon,
bones in motion,
bones sinking sooner,
dust at my lips,
and
destruction
of my
apical temple assured;


I light my cigarette,
inhale disdain for these four walls and
this ritual madness,
and
for all I know,
the moon was never blue
and I made this moment
harder than
it
had to
be.

The hammer falls,
with no hand in sight;

skin untarnished before the unknowing
eye,
inside the pulse quakes.

and I am tired,
so tired,
of chasing that
oasis.

long are the minutes,
struggle is the real fight;

hymns are broken and the breath
has completed the sigh.

and I am tired,
so tired,
of failing to flee the
stasis.

the past has that flavorful taste,
today is stale bread
the future will be choked down;

take my *** into the river and
allow me to be filled once more.

but I am tired,
so tired,
of looking for
traces.

the lonely crow knows,
what submits is dead;

my legs move slower in
the direction of sedation.

am I am tired,
so tired,
of chasing that oasis.

Aligning hearts on the
tilted ephemeral axis watch
the world spin by.

Some not ever meeting true love,
others fondled deeply by its
swallowing grasp.

Searching and seeking out
love never yields the
right diamond.

Be still and love will
find me right.

Forgo chases and pursuits,
resigned to a peaceful treaty
of patience,

for the right diamond will
reveal itself once distressed
eyes finally
rest.

Follow your internal song
to a place where
string and brass
lie waiting to be woken alive
with your fresh breath;
The world is all music for
curious hands and
ears ready to
listen and
play its
tune.

Sun-burnt arms hanging carelessly again
out the car window,
fingers tapping to the music of bending trees,
the smell of freshly laid tire tracks indicate
the rush hour race is on.

My eyes speeding through the scenery around
me,
I am a poor audience.

Lively grass and vibrant flowers shout out
with a fresh burst of new colors, pleading to
grab my attention.
But the only color I see is 'GO'----
The time will come to finally stop,
not for the sake of traffic, but for a last chance
to open my eyes to this generous gift;
hopefully before I reach the end of
my
narrow road.

There are layers existing deep
in you,
parts long forgotten,
parts yet to be found,
they call, but you have never known
how to listen.

They can no longer wait.
The Gods make sure of this.

Someone or something will come
and burn you down to nothing.
Burn down your faulty armor.

It will hurt. And it should.

On the other side of this hurt,
who will be there, but the charred seeds
of your soul.

Find them. Only you can replant them.

Only when you have stopped looking for yourself
in the hands and at the feet of shallow statues,
look down to the soil at your own feet, that ground
you walk upon, there,
plant those seeds, and begin again.
Grow stronger.
Grow wiser.
Reborn.

In the still of your
voice,
under each roll of your
tongue,

in between breathes,
after every gasp.

I find myself drifting off
from dark corners
into the brightest gathering
of your mind,

speak to me slowly,

so I can watch your lips compose
an angelic symphony
I am helpless
to
resist.

Sips of you linger
on the brim of my skyline,
a tasteful frontier,
I give my open palms
for just one more of your drops.

My gracious jewel up
high,
I know your love won't wait long,
so I'll find my way back to
you once more,
on the exhale of a perfectly ascending
horizon.

-ct lokey

I will sit
on your doorstep
howling for you,
howling till you
come out from behind your eclipsing mask
like the naked Moon uncovers herself
from her nocturnal dress.

There's a visceral rawness residing
deep in you,
A ravenous delicacy that has held
in its own howl for too long;

We are the wild reclaimed.

Singing won't end because
it's over,

you're a permanent verse in
my heart's song,

but unlike when you
were once my
chorus,

never again will you
be repeated.