a collaborative poem by
Partheny Maroua Nixstin
man, food as a social bond
to drag state the brow dregs unworldly
rapscallions outwards, possibly
a fifth wheel, or an orbit on the run
casting pinpricks on my deprecations
of myself, selfish loathing, but only to a point,
to a point spoked by several intrices, crossing
steeped strange brew between homelands
& wrapped on the cranks at juiced rusters
annoying rusted roots! they are eating
my fruits!
hold, he says, for a stallion maiden awaits
and jostles my pupils for a coded syrillian scroll
she says, "May, I will let go, drop my
sac of water and busy will I plunder."
Dink down under a dowl or two campground owners
digging trenches for their tent-flops
and flip-flops which flapped against toe-teeth
a baby seethes in brandy, marinade for
baby-backed ribs, beef for the Halal crowd
and kosher for the others, blood empty tongue.
Shabbat on Tuesday this Time.
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