the great baker man
turns out cake in pan
stirring together
one part carbon
to three parts water
and a pinch of
calcium, sodium,
and the spice of life
cracking open shells
and pouring out souls
to whip into frothy
means of existence
placing into wombs
a batter of body to
bake for many moons
but the sweet dessert
always comes last
the revelry and feast
after the long dull fast
though the baker
turns out budding
bodies from piping
hot female kilns
the buns aren't
ready to serve until
they've been buttered
and only a bun
can know when it's
ready for that
and find it's place
among the giant pan
of gender rolls
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