New Utensils

Bringing a bowl
Of pepper, sand, and salt
Get off at dawn
Digging a hole
Fill it with tinder and coal
Precious time on your own

We light the lantern
A slumber dancer
Takes a form
Perfect location
Site observation in a song

Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words

New utensils
Think of the season
Like a poem
Grass, leaves, and tree
It's not up to me anymore

Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words

They're always hungry
I might just spare some
Striking clouds
We bend our routine
Be nice to me before you're gone

Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words

West coast is the best coast
We feast in the east
Pull up a skirt, grind the beasts