Mud

I'll eat the mud
I'll suck the sun out of the sky,
puncture the clouds.
When I'm throwing down
it won't make a sound.
Below the bed,
under the ground.
When I fought the night
it stayed asleep.
It didn't move,
the dark is cheap.

I'm braiding hair,
braiding it well.
My father taught me,
and now I can tell
when I'm asleep
and when I'm awake.
I'm not afraid,
this dirt is fake.