I wrote the poem called Chaos several years ago to celebrate my first and only (thus far) tat. It mixes in my concept of chaos as a creative force.



She had a round tattoo

on the fleshy webbing

between thumb and index.

She named it Chaos,

claimed a Chinese glyph

bode complex meaning.


In between the random-

ness, there’s order. In a room-

full of writers a single thread

emerges, bobbing its

synchronous head until

we see it. That’s Chaos.


From the sky an island seen

through thickets of trees,

pockets of light, coagulated shade.

At ground level under the marl,

specks taste the same,

chemical reactions occur.


Vibrancy beneath all,

Chaos in the making.