William Bloodaxe Greybeard

Wally Will born under Kell,
to a Union Jack,
loyalist yank from Virginia.
secret pass of wine to my uncle,
sneaking among the sheds,
near those cooking apple butter.
Breathing cold mist,
then to be breathing the hot misty wind.
Amid incestuous Alabama backporches,
good lard dishes,
and cool dark water.
And you at my door...
Phantom fetish stands charging up
the entrance...
Little pink flesh knot
charming toward my touch.

William B. Graybeard,
passes hinterlands, he travels the depths,
into soul, and spirit.
These doors open for me,
these many days.
And your voice is drenched in sadness,
and I can catch it.
I must remain,
my heart is with you.
Moonstone Bloodaxe,
have you gone a hunting?
I do not want spiritual bullets,
shoot up an astral plane,
little stars speckle.

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