New Utensils
Karin Elizabeth Dreijer, Olof Bjorn Dreijer
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 mouth full 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 mouth full 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 a beast