Poems from the Chaos

across dimensions
like the ones on the
tiny paper scraps
that guide my hands-
i know where to go-
only
you wanted me
from the start.
i danced without the benefit
of the seven veils,
just one-
it snowed that month
and seemed a paradigm.
so many childhoods later,
including mine,
we enter the fire willingly,
burning away 60 odd years
of loneliness,
smoking in the rain,
playing lovers' games and tori amos on the ipod
(i remember
you were frightened by my ringtone
the night we met).
i've lived for you,
you've died for me.
every touch is a gift of light,
eternity a matter
of course.
when you alter your soul for another,
you have found true love.
i am ready.


A.
The past is a dangerous place.
It is a minefield,
strewn with the bodies of those
who have gone before.
The survivors tiptoe through,
numbed by the opiates
of "the good old days."
It is a place of deception,
for time is pervaricating,
even as I speak.

B.
Fluid tongues long since forgotten,
the regret of a thousand years
crammed into three scant decades.
Battles fought by tin soldiers,
brave boys become casual casualties,
and it's all bound up
and shipped in cardboard boxes.
Suffering women
from Lilith to Marilyn
discover it was all for nothing-
life goes on, whether or not
we are defeated.