Baking the Ginger Boy's Tongue
"What do you want?"
The white uniformed voice feeds
My anxious sweet hunger, but iced
With the fear of womenís words.
"Then, the ones text to," I said.
"Crumb buns? You want crumb buns?
Or the flopovers, which?" The
Old are hungry for wordsí pointing power.
But I have heard Bogart, Cooper,
And my brotherís slang swagger
Too clearly not to taste the rancid in
Feminine scented, sweet words.
"I canít give you any until you say."
Her eyes bulge at me,
Like muffins rising in the tin.
Finally, timed and done, I rise.
"Crumb buns, crumb buns,"
I cry quickly, through slitted mouth,
Cut open for the first of many times
By the sweet cinnamon of desire.
Sacramento Morning by Shawn Pittard
Baking the Ginger Boy's Tongue by Jay Carson
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In Some of the Snapshots by Oliver Rice
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Talking Cure by David Barber
The Greeks by Martin Devecka
Theory to the People by Julianne Werlin