Squash, melons, onions,
Garlic and leek.
Shriveled in gullet,
MAHN HU, so to speak.

My twins, coriander
and bdellium, cry–
Give us this day, God,
Our daily get-by.

Ground it in millstones
Or boil in a pot;
Pound with fine mortar
Or leave out to rot.

Till we, huddled masses,
your riffraff, set sail–
But first, reap the heavens!
(Dear, floss after quail.)

From out of our nostrils
“Enough!” we howl, lest
The graves of our craving,
Like dew, manifest.

ink 7.vi.06

lazarus macbeth stevens dew upon their feet shall manifest