What fascinates me about the dirt
Is not all dirt is the same dirt is a misnomer—
Each particle is not separate from but bound to the texture of an entire universe
decomposition, baby, as the surface changes shape, sound,
Still inside the dirt remains.
Undesirable sacrilege, impure, dirty politics of—
Dirt composed of (indicates intention, musicality)
We sing to our young through amniotic sacks
to transfer touch
We eat dirt to harness the earth lost
Praying to God, to grandmother, to demonic ground*
(see Sylvia Wynter, Katherine McKittrick)
For the power of composition: to drag between heaven, hell, or elsewhere
A bloody baby, shrieking,
Amongst all that—shit. It all comes at once.
Piss in a pan, defecate on the bed
Consumers, decomposers, producers—again the dance of categories.
Earth-eating, pathologized as geophagia,
How is the body changed by earth encounter?
What I would give to roll in this white dirt
But what joyful noise
Dragging my body around, being born on the floor
Beneath a heavy, hazy god
now, imagine all of this
presided over by one rock
Lu Rose Biltucci is an artist and educator from Rochester, New York. They are currently based in Queens.