The Runes


”Talking, talking, 
spinning a web of 
words, pale walls
of dreams, between 
myself and all I see"
—John Gardner, Grendel

Lost in a labyrinth—
the ruins of Stonehenge
here inside the runes

Crags & monoliths—
vast megaliths of stone
etched by the Evil Ones

And yet here I am—
wandering the bleak 
abandoned moors

Sighing, trudging—
back to the Mead House
what else can I do?

Brains squeezed shut—
like a ram, bull or devil
by the roots of my horns

Lost in a maze of—
Anglo-Saxon lust that
constantly devours me

One of the well-hung—
drunk young Thanes 
of Hrothgar comes

Reeling & stumbling—
out of the meady hall
to piss in the darkness

Afterwards, I lick my—
cum-stained lips, taste
of young Viking cock

Meanwhile the Harp—
the Wenches, the Sex
continue in the Hall

Otherwise nothing—
really happens here
but young warriors

Sigemund smegma—
smearing my moustache
testifying to my worship

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