Voyages

Going back in time
Is not a sane thing to do.
Uncoiling the twists
Your distant memory created
Will only lead to
Bloody slaps on your forearms,
As the wire gives way to brutish force.
Burning raw at the naked reality
Of what was.
Shocking and painful
As staring at the sun
After removing a pair of trusty
Dark sunglasses.
Like turning over in bed
After an evening of beer goggles
To find a green Medusa
Where once lay a silken Venus.
No, time travel
Is never a safe thing to do.
Best stay in now,
Blindfolding one eye,
To the inevitable terrors of the past,
And agonizing with the other
At memory’s lost pleasure,
Never to be found
Again.