Objectivity Of The Ice Goddess Poem by Michael Ó Domhnaill

If I could sleep for a thousand years.

I could shed the earthen film or tears

that collects the grime of my life's mutiny.

Deadening skin hue, the droning day does undo me.



Rain makes coalesced schemes circle on the surface

of sanity's blunt naked puddle: My face,

no lines, no crevasses of age yet scar.

The set jaw, eye flicker of the unsure, only just veils my war.



Everything is an ironical wink,

a pulse of epiphany.

Then the sky falls in omnicoloured pitch;

I bite the bedrock beneath me.



A perfectly pure ivory breast-

(I lick a pink nipple) -

A violent shock, a shudder distraught;

Despair maligns me. I'm crippled.



No more mutilation for sake of love.

Love is messy for men of bloody revelation.

The disease is loosed on the leering.

Unmoved stands a figure- brittle, crystal thin.

When it shatters, so shatters she:

Your fetish...Your salvation.