That Time I Wrote a Poem While Destroying a Magic 8 Ball


I had a magic eight-ball that told you random answers to yes and no questions. Sometimes you just need some cosmic advice on whether you are making the correct choice or not, but the thing was random, it could not consider all the complex facets and possible outcomes to your questions.

I decided to open my eight-ball and use the liquid inside to make a painting. While doing so, a poem began to form in my mind, and I decided I needed to write it down while it was happening. I wrote down the first part as though the magic eight ball were using its answers to write the poem with me.

What follows is the true story of destroying the eight-ball to get to the liquid inside. It was so much harder than I thought it would be, but I did it. There was enough liquid for four paintings, which turned out well, one that resembles an underwater-cloudy sky blend won honourable mention at an art show.

Destruction as a means of creation

(February 2010)

Curse you magic 8 ball!
I can no longer take your wishy-washy replies,
always changing your mind.
Do you feed me false hopes?
I question your divine sources,
what do you know of the world?
Shall I smash you apart
use your blue blood as ink?
Hammer falls where your halves meet.
I try to tear you apart, you resist.

Sawing into you
your shell remains,
while pieces of you fall away.

I can smell burning rubber.

Against your roundness
the serrated blade
slips into my hand.

I take it personally,
relentlessly smash you with the hammer
your innards are frothy,
no longer can you speak.

I attempt to drill into your window,
ice fishing.
I am a coyote
searching for this egg’s weakness.

It’s surface is mangled,
scratched, dented.
I am still bleeding.

Then I see it,
a crack in the defenses!
I put on Polysporin and a bandaid,
confident this fight is almost over.

How many bad decisions are based on your lies?
I’m thru the outer shell.
How many lives have you ruined?
I have your sealed inner core.

Drain you,
your liquid fills my pen
and covers my canvas.

Your ghost is a 20-sided die.


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