Sometimes it feels good to eat dirt.

You’re laughing, saying help yourself,

“All the mud pie in the world right

beneath your feet, just scoop, taste.”

You’re thinking age two, mama’s not watching.

What is it? Throw it a bit. Taste it.

Not bad and not good but the worms

that come later don’t feel so good.

It feels good to eat dirt, when you’re on a bike

rolling down the road. Sometimes bugs,

sometimes billowing dust clouds sail behind

racing out, motor screaming, hitting the road.

Sometimes when you have to eat the worst dirt,

dirt about yourself, by those who hate,

it feels good to chaw down like your teeth

become the death of the world, devouring it up

then spitting it out with nonchalance

having tasted nothing of any worth at all.