O Southampton Forest Man 

of the Broad Ax!

Lover of freedom! Nerves 

wrought with iron!

Speak to us how 

you cleared the way to Jerusalem

From house to house

Hail! Maker of the Way!

A mountain taller 

than Nat’s Trusted Four

You, Will Francis, 

were a stone wall, an orgy 

of brandy, gunpowder, & blood.

Tell us of cutting 

down trees of illusions.

Speak! How came you 

to the Sunday feast

At Cabin Pond, 

Reese plantation, 21^st August

1831? Hark brought 

a pig, and Henry, brandy.

Yet you hungered 

for a more delicious delight.

WILL SPEAKS

You, preacher man, 

will call me Executioner.

But I’ll don no mask, 

other than God’s creation.

I am God’s soldier, 

ready for Judgment Day,

I am your black 

hand, chopping them down!

I won’t give 

a hatchet’s glancing blow

I’ll lay Joe Travis 

out; his wife in bed -- one 

blow of my ax! 

I’ll bash an infant’s brains 

against bloody bricks 

of a fireplace.

Call Richard "The Rev"

Whitehead from his cotton field,

Astride a horse, 

I’ll send him to his grave.

Whack up! Whack up! 

Just a flip of the wrist

Catherine Whitehead, 

her severed head 

falls into the gray 

nothing from her shoulders 

like broken door hinges.

One stroke of my ax 

heads roll like marbles

Elizabeth Turner too, 

one blow of my ax,

Sarah Newsome, 

I’ll send her packing!

Whack up! Whack up! 

I will cut my way

Through white bullets 

of fiendish fear

Monster-filled woods

bottoms of betrayal

Then die gloriously on Harris’ Field.

There’ll be no court for Will Francis

They’ll never take me and my ax

To trial, wild spirits fly in freedom

Swamps, illusions, falling like trees.