The Oven Loves All of His Children

Great job. You've filled the room with smoke.

It wasn't my fault. I actually wanted those cookies

as a matter of fact. You however, seemed to want

to destroy the little procreations of Gingerbread

Land, burning them, sending them to the hell they

all feared when they read their gingerbread bibles.

Nowhere in the gingerbread bibles

did it predict that their only fate was to become smoke-

particles and then rise to the ceiling as they would all

scream for purgatory. They promised to be good cookies

that would help the homeless of Gingerbread

Land, doing whatever their Ovengod wanted.

You stopped everyone from doing what they wanted:

Their plans of initiating a bible

study group. Going to the Gingerbread

Tropics to refrost houses that went up in smoke

the last time you burned a tribe of cookies.

Now the gingerbread neighbors have to start all

over again, tending to the mourning wives of all

the decadent sinners, the delinquents' parents that only wanted

what was best for their crispy children, and the cookie-

orphans of rum-soaked transgressors that never read the bible

to the children, but rather blew smoke

into their gumdrop eyes. Tragedies among men of Gingerbread.

The mayor of this anguished Gingerbread

Land called a town meeting today in honor of the neighbors they

had lost. They began to lose faith in the Ovengod who smoked

cigars. He had let them down and ignored what they wanted

and asked for: to be normal and crunchy and delicious. They

decided to keep devotion to Him as a sad community of cookies.

Tomorrow, as the exhaust clears, this community of cookies

will go on as it had the day before, with gingerbread

picket-fences, and everyone will study their sugary bibles

boasting that the next time there's a catastrophe, they

will be saved from the fiery fate. They claim to not want

to sent to the burners, but act as if they live off smoke.

They can only hope that if you try to make cookies, you'll think about how they

just want to have a normal, happy, Gingerbread neighborhood. Also, they want

crispier bibles, and they really, really don't want to go to a hell of smolder and smoke.

I'm Waiting for Motivation

You've got to get up. We've got nowhere to go.

Just put your backpack on and we'll go to school and we'll point at everyone that isn't us, because look at what they're missing.

Let's ask off-white walls and American middle-aged men for heat, when we get there.

Just get up, you, ya scoundrel.

I don't know where we're going, you're right.

But I know that you're backyard won't protect us forever.

The bench is going to break in half from rotted wood.

And it's going to take more than haphazard white glue to point us in the right direction.

Great. Fifty feet and we're back laying on our spines in a fort of couches and blankets.

There's no one here, you're right, but time passes, even if it's covered by linens.

I know you don't want to get up. Me neither.

Let's at least go back outside and try to get a better tan than we're getting under here.

Argiris Karras

juss sayin.

Fall I

It doesn't take much for you to become something else. You look back later, and you say, not that you won't become that person again, but that you hated that person that you became.

I am your conscience; essentially. I am an acknowledged passing-acquaintance to whom you turn a blind eye between classes, which is why you recently changed routes.

Maybe it's pretentious to think that I know who you are, but you seem to confirm the idea.

Maybe it's selfish to think that what you do affects me.

My Favorite Bro

I look, I stare, I wince. Your face is sad.

Your mouth is closed, your eyes won't look at me.

You've got a dead fall mom and default dad

That watch you when you fall from coffee tree.

You've lacked a steady income for some time.

The money you obtain's from empty air.

And yet you manage somehow to get by

By spending most your funds on food and flair.

There's tons of things about you that I bet

I am completely unaware; a scourge.

I could not make a mixed cassette for you.

If it comes off this way, I beg for purge.

You offer so much more than can know.

And for these reasons, you're my favorite bro.