Chalk Hills.

Chalk Hills.

Chalk hills are growing ...where my wings should be....
Barren lands where dried-body skeletons of fallen bones
Replace the foliage ..they’ll be the geometry of me...
And I do not wish it

I do not wish my ivories ....my skull and spine my frame and knees...
To bend in pulp-en ash
When all out there who insist that it is so
are crazed beyond the grasp.

It is enough
I breath on granite hills...contaminated by a manganese
Which springs up in the well...and shoots its blackened darts into my organs
I’m a mess...

...and yet I do my best .

I drain the beast thru filters.. glare at it...
Drink wine instead of water...have I a choice..?

But in a dream ...the endless dream I have..where I can never
Do the prep for my exams...can never learn the lines for some rehearsal,
A dream stuck somewhere back in time in changing scenery...dark halls
And abstract squares of doom and introspection..and...
I lie it is a tossing bed of sleep ...so filled with dread of my inadequacy
(the jug of my inadequacy filled to the brim
That in the dream I sink into a form of tangled gut torn fear

I shall reach the coming day and never know a word of it at all...

In dreams time drags..and never comes...

I wake up . I must capitulate to the order of the day...obey
The rules of conmen..move according to the sincere lies laid down
By the egotists of bursting governments

Shall we all burn because of them ...it feels that way sometimes.

2011...March  Kristine byrne
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