How came I to this place, this endless space,
this long, long moving? What evil angel
perched on the edge of my mother’s womb
and sucked all hope of joy from my soul even
as it was becoming to Be, and what Benevolence
reared in righteous anger to the rescue?
Speak not of eternity’s plan; myth is little
comfort to martyrs without leave.
Better the justice of random chaos
than evil for the common good.
Chaos pretends to be nothing but self.
May 22, 2001