Dirt

Original Text: 

Wayne Clifford. The Exile's Papers: Part Three: The Dirt's Passion Is Flesh Sorrow. Erin, Ontario: Porcupine's Quill, 2011.

1Gran told me we eat a peck, but grit
2puts most off, or whiff of rot. For the willing,
3tones of apple, berry, sedge; the stiff
4rudiments of sticks and stones that one,
5at first, might expect to gag on;
6                                                 grass,
7timothy pulled stalk straight succulent.
8Then subtleties, faint pretensions of what lives
9collect, mostly unbragged, beyond the taint
10of history's spilled blood, too much to cry
11over:
12        sweat of passions or labours, beery
13piss, and such perfumes of our beastly
14fashions as do deny the commonplace
15dead, the bottom note, salt of earth.
16Acquired, yes, but as a last meal, worth.
RPO poem Editors: 
Jim Johnstone
RPO Edition: 
2013
Form: 
Special Copyright: 

Poem used with permission of the author.