taste thinks

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)
Dirt, composer—

We sing to our young through amniotic sacks
caress ourselves
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,
Dirty
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
Improper
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.

This poem responds to Juliette.