Cherries for Will

Willie rose up, a pidgeon pie in hand,
baked with the black crust of Circe.
The Snake Maidens carouse in the camp of Will.
His tent is set upon an anthill in Lemonland.

The cuckoid Rosebone
elucidates the globes of Hector,
whilst the Mosquito Armies
achieve news of blood.

Troy has fallen; the dupes of equine.
Soused on victory,
the cherries have rattled
on the scrobiculate field of the dead.

The tree gives up her cherries,
black cherries of the future.
Each cherry of each human soul
is baked in an individual pie. . .

fed to a pidgeon in infinity.
Each pidgeon is made into a pie,
fed to the individualized
warriors of May.

These warriors are the ferocious pies
fed to the lions of interstellar space, whose names are starlight,
whose roar is the shower
of the nebular nectar of the Void. . .

whose claw is the receding moon sword,
whose tooth is invincible,
faced with a concatenation of Pie Types
from the elementary tablature of the Goddess.

Find more by Eric Whollem in the Author Index.

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