you know,
we are all cookies.
sad but true-
cookies formed alike
by cutter molds:
all the same
all the same
all the same....
except, of course,
some are baked
a darker hue
and some still
soft and pale.
and most have chips
although, of course,
some have more
and some have less
than others.
and some have oats
and some have flour
and some have nuts
(take it as you will)
and some have none.
and some are made
with butter
sweet and tender,
some are made
with crisco
(how mundane),
and some
(the lesser cookies)
made with lard,
and turn out tasty,
(although greasy and of
questionable quality).
and some are even
fruity.... ooohhh, myyyy...
and then there are
the rest of us,
who crack and
crumble on the truck,
and lie and wait
in cookie silence
at the bottom
of the bag
for freedom,
light and air,
where no cookies
have gone before,
and none will go again.
and so we write
cookie poetry,
and grin our
cookie grins.
YOU ARE READING
*breathe in deep, hold on tight, eye to eye, grin to grin, fall on in, please...
Poetrya short collection of sometimes delightful, sometimes sad, sometimes dark poems. there's a little something for everyone. you may see biker poetry, love, lust, and revenge. something new every so often, so visit when you need to escape the everyd...
