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I only find within my bones, A taste for eating earth and stones. |
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When I feed, I feed on air, Rocks and coals and iron ore. |
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My hunger, turn. Hunger, feed: A field of bran. |
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Gather as you can the bright, Poison ****. |
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Eat the rocks a beggar breaks, |
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The stones of ancient churches' walls, |
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Pebbles, children of the flood, Loaves left lying in the mud. |
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Beneath the bush a wolf will howl, Spitting bright feathers |
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From his feast of fowl: Like him, I devour myself. |
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Waiting to be gathered, Fruits and grasses spend their hours; |
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The spider spinning in the hedge, Eats only flowers. |
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Let me sleep! Let me boil! On the altars of Solomon; |
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Let me soak the rusty soil, and flow into Kendron. |
