gorgon gingersnaps, nefariously plump,
skinning a snickerdoodle,
riling a crump.
howling through cookie-cutter catacombs
the ghosts of long-dead confections
stir taffy bones and sugared wisps, stale
sucrose.
hapless horehounds leap across chasms
not unlike glorious marmalade moss'
mats.
softly now grows the
marshmallowslumber
of gods yet unnamed in kitchens
far unfathomed.
