"It's Killing Us, This Meixcan Ice,"

Jolie O'Dell

the sheriff said,

as shards of war grew all around

and split my fissile heart.

Double-shafted, sour-breathed,

candy-hard, and many-pored,

it oozed salt and oil.

She was beaten repeatedly

yet smiled and sighed.

She was bound like an animal-

they say she drove him to it.

She was taken away from home;

she was taken ashore

and fasted her exquisite mind.

"Too much light makes a baby go blind.

Too much water is dangerous.

Too much desert is never enough,"

the desperate god wept and raped,

vitriol running in thick rivulets

down his leathered face

onto hyacinths and river reeds.

Why six is three times two

or why is ten more than three times three?

Red is a verb, green is the subject.

Blue is popular and productive.

Six is physical,

Seven is will,

Red is a refracted ray.

Seeking through weakness

the ideal of a cavalier death,

Icarus despaired minute by minute.

A little soap, a little friction-

we could all be so clean.

"There's no such thing as not deep enough,"

he said and jumped.

Published by Jolie O'Dell

Writer for ReadWriteWeb. Video blogger.  View profile

1 Comments

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  • saul relative6/17/2008

    What a great poem, Jolie. Excellent...

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