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