I only find within my bones, A taste for eating earth and stones
When I feed, I feed on air, Rocks and coals and iron ore
My hunger, turn. Hunger, feed: A field of bran
Gather as you can the bright, Poison weed
Eat the rocks a beggar breaks
The stones of ancient churches' walls
Pebbles, children of the flood, Loaves left lying in the mud

Beneath the bush a wolf will howl, Spitting bright feathers
From his feast of fowl: Like him, I devour myself
Waiting to be gathered, Fruits and grasses spend their hours;
The spider spinning in the hedge, Eats only flowers
Let me sleep! Let me boil! On the altars of Solomon;
Let me soak the rusty soil, and flow into Kendron