O COOKIE! my Cookie!

by Jesse Mason

O COOKIE! my Cookie! our stomachs rendered full;
The sheet from whence you were baked, is now so dry and cool;
Those warm sweet scents, deliverence, from the olfactory doldrums,
And here's to the lengthy hot summer drives fueled by old frozen-cold ones.
But O tongue! tongue! tongue!
O the bleeding chocolate drops,
Where on the sheet my cookies lies,
Lovingly, caringly plopped.


O COOKIE! my Cookie! paired perfect with milk ice cold;
A finer love than ours exists only in tales I'm told;
For you they travel far and wide, the spanse of many miles;
For you they come, chip and crumb, to make their bellies smile;
Here Cookie! dear Baked Good!
A fine and subtle crop;
On the plate my cookie lies,
Lovingly, caringly plopped.

O COOKIE! my Cookie! your recipe a secret to men;
But when it's eaten, your secret beaten, ingredients tasted therein;
A cup of this, a cup of that, a dash of tender lovin';
Another chocolate chip for Jess, then pop 'em in the oven.
Exult, O mouths, and ring, O bells!
And let not the music stop;
For in my belly my cookie lies,
Lovingly, caringly plopped.

Millish

by David Midgley

take all the quavering points
and differentiate them
into a gradient of
precision;

wait

Lift the firmer words
from a tongue taken
into warm ecstasy,
apply thereby to strings,
corded metal, cored and
cool for all its rippling
waves.

Build; tighten, team to
see with one view,
or a gaze that lists
responses only in silent
touch: the silence hidden
beneath such sound;
the touch that works across
a distance. No fingers any more,
no sticks, wooden chambers,
harsh skin circles, plucked
hair of horses:

just the swaying cords
and chords and choruses.

Slug Lover Vol. 1

by Tyler Duncan

There's a slug in my hat.
Slimming slithery scintilating goo scabbard
A crawling creole,
matter is an eternal maze for the slow,
the slippery,
an uninterpreted, unexamined,
unknown perception.
we are the slug's imagination.
our hats are its kingdom.
Hail thee lord slug.
May my reality serve well as your palace.

There's a slug in my hat.

A Slime-erick

by Dale Dahl

Some say that the world is flat.
Not sure I agree with that.
Flat earth? That's amusing!
And Copernicus? Too confusing!
So I'll ask the "slug in my hat."

I love being drawn metaphorically into the
conflict of the human condition.
The condition of you Burrito being
drawn to my tummy.

Your crepe lips collide with my flesh lips,
and your bean content becomes one
with my stomach content, in a play
of unity - unity with a hint of disturbance.

When your crepe lips and my flesh lips collide,
You bring me joy and pain - joy and pain.
You're a GI rocketship you crazy burretto!
You're a GI rocketship you crazy burretto!

Kiss my GI system into submission
with your dance of taste and nutrients.
And help me to submit into the knowledge that
I love you crazy burretto.

Like a long lost lover,
I love your crepe lips despite the pain.
So I wrap my lips around your lips,
and consume you with love and pleasure.

And chew you, and absorb your bean soul
into my effervescent soul, residing in this house that God built.
SO SOON WE MET FAIR BURRETTO -
AND SO SOON WE SAY GOODBY.

No praise to the phallic images of man.
striving for immortality.
Just a salute to you, and I'll not forget you
you wonderful, tubular, pleasure crepe!