Her story wasn’t always so sweet
Slippery in fact
Listen as Miss Butterworth traces back
It was at the Oak View Plantation
It wasn’t a place full of fascination
The City and State was Clever, Alabama
Her life was full of struggles
Miss Butterworth was often beaten morning, noon and night
Her whole life was life with unquestionable plight
Miss Butterworth wanted to see freedom as her guiding light
That night, Miss Butterworth made her escape
Vast rivers surrounded the Plantation all over
When it rained she found cover
But her determination to be free rang high
Here’s why
Miss Butterworth often talked to other slaves of Freedom ways in the East
That was her vision in encouragement at least
Miss Butterworth thought back that all she could think about running through her mind was, “I had to be free”
She often heard Dogs with Slave Masters tracking her paths
She ran and ran until she was out of breath
Miss Butterworth maneuvered through the many rivers undetected
That was how the plantation dogs loss her scent
Miss Butterworth was now her own human body in represent
She knew within her heart, she had a purpose and reason to live
Slavery was only a form of suppression
But that plantation taught her a valuable lesson
“You must be determined enough and move with reaction in stating enough was enough being victorious
Miss Butterworth made it East to New Jersey
Her eyes were wide opened to a new beginning, and a chance to excel
Miss Butterworth immediately fell to her knees and prayed to the Almighty Heavenly God
Through his mercy and blessings, he got her through
She was not on Freedom Road
Now you know the story being told
Miss Butterworth’s name is famous on many Syrup bottles being her threshold
Freedom now and forever

Sweeter* than* wait I am starting
to melt like a____?
             Royal Jam
  Scarlet Movie Oh!  I don't give a
              ****!!
The Milkman versus My Breadman
How can I decide I feel I am
going to faint

Such a quaint picnic was "Hot Epic"
       My biggest fan is my
              Mother
    Going public like a stand up comic

All stereotypes happiness
        is a warm bread
Any way you slice it love it
Even going out of our head
The war going on
Hello Vietnam
Be my *Grand Slam

Have difficulty with everything
Melting our hearts those
"Good Eat" the luckiest people
But it's us the ordinary people
No time to brag or boost
who believes
everything is extraordinary
take a bow

Feeling tired give me a bat and ball
My big hit  built me a buttercup bed

I love the sweet warm toast
With my butter spread that
dash of sea salt the most
What was truly said in
your opinion no one's fault
Justice For All so stop
feeling guilty

Or in the presence of someone, you
didn't love at all

End of the reign beginning of
Melted candle dripping softly
like I apple butter he texted me
His ears were full of wax

Moms and
their daughters play
dressed up Dads and sons
  kickball having a meltdown
Of timeless bills no bread lines
Kings and Queens love their crowns
Love those quilts of corals
Soft as butter what morals

It's time for Hellman's
mayonnaise sandwich
What a dilemma
Every morning she is eating
Cream of wheat like a blob
Of farina
Kansas City here she comes

She loves her buttered popcorn
Poppy seed bagel was
near her acorns
We used to be human now
  An Army of Robots
Keep your enemies closer
If you truly love her

Robin Hood of the thieves

She got Gingersnapped
Melted finger-mapped
Crusty Baguette's French lip
lemon creme
Those marionettes caused
a scene

Butterscotch candy sugar cookies  
cleaning up your
computer meet "Ms." Butterworth"
movie
The worst shes ever has seen

She is sitting in the country
southern style
the dining room
Doing banana splits boiling
egg yolks Mcdonalds pancake
with Old folks

And cartwheels Moms always
wearing her buttercream heels
More room buttercream paint
And so toxic she zooms

What a silly goose with hens
He is hiding his eyes like
a fugitive he was blind getting
melted by so many lovers
Buttery slippery hearts

Jumping like Jack Rabbits melting a
white picket fence no nonsense
This bread and butter hold me closer
Everyone is looking
like a stranger
Almost every morning new
improved bread love pusher
Fresh taste and another lover
Uptown girl left her catcher of
the rye bread on used up counter
Seeing too many piano players
of Billies, she was getting a
Bread hot fever

Take me to *Panera Bread
Cyborgs the pig and whistle 
beer and nuts melted butter pretzels
The Alien like a damsel in distress
Like a heart of the shamrock
What a lucky piece Irish bread
The Queen red wine and
breadcrumbs
On her musical chair
Milk and honey not your
Unicorn Pony quick kick
then melt me in my sleep

Ancient rocks up her castle
Sipping her hot spell word
puzzle
Secrets of all tattle tales
In her coffee, he smiles with
French croissant like a sergeant
Bread melted her butter lips
The very first time she
ever saw his face
There were more excursions
but no excuses to
butter up my Prince

Not noon delight nor a twilight's splendors
Not dawn nor dusk: the space between for dreams
Of what you ask appeals to both genders?
Melting yellow soft peaks? Amber warm streams?
Golden brown spheres stacked high, their height unknown?
Tis a past morn's custom, daybreak's bounty
Tis a morning fixture, not to postpone
Bacon Beacon of hope for the breakfast county
Though her cloying honeyed fluids are faux,
Though she takes a sluggish minute to heat
Tis my young wish to make myself her beau
This odd request is thick, so rich, so sweet
Gastronomic Mrs. Jones increases girth
I want to squeeze my Mrs. Butterworth

Joe Bisquick was driving,
It was late Friday night.
He turned his rig left
when he should have gone right.
Folks say he avoided
a fork in the road.
His rig overturned
And he lost his whole load.
There was hungry Jack Syrup
on the Buttermilk Pike.
It oozed onto the shoulders
Of the road left and right.
All of that Syrup-
Not a pancake in sight!.
Police questioned Butterworth-
Who had motive and cause,
But she was released,
having broken no laws.
Pancake breakfasts were cancelled
In Kentucky the next day
Aunt Jemima made
a clean get away.

This is for the old brother...
the seasoned brother... who made it
(you made it baby)
to have pretty much gone everywhere he had to go and
did every thing he had to do
for every body he had to do it for and
now rises each day and shaves and dresses and
dons his hat to gather down to the
barbershop or general store or shade tree or park to
play checkers or chess or bones or spades...
tell tall tales and short lies...
about how and when and with whom it was back then...
but stops
as i walk by and
breathes deeply as if to
enjoy a whiff of womanly me... and tips his hat and
holds the door and smiles a smile that even now
under the ravages of
time and being black in america
is still **** and kinda sweet..
while the others softly co-sign...
"ump, ump UMP!" or
"my, my, my.." or
"Miss Butterworth!"
and makes a well-rounded old girl like me
smile her own kinda sweet smile....
and thats enuf
this age old ritual
is enuf somehow
for now…

Cataclysmically careening down a chasm of chaos
I seperate myself from myself
I am just a part of the everything and spiralling ever further into the void
Devoid of the hubris and ideals of the individual
We are now as we are
The great Is.
Tiny terrifying tarantulas treck through my trachea
bring to me the woe and confusion of thought
my voice creaks and from within a gurgle of shame
comes an uproarious feeling screaming louder and louder
FIGHT
However

I sit in my apartment,
surrounded by a display of unadulterated unease
the carpet is littered with broken promises to myself
and the corpses of my past lives
shambling through the dark and finding the bathroom I find the light
I turn it on and inside the mirror is
the face of my mother, speaking in tongues and drinking maple syrup
while Mrs. Butterworth moans like a **** star
A fillibuster of inconceivable toxic waste spews from my mouth as I make excuses
I shave my face and head out the door
I have a job to do after all and this world needs me
Me the only me that has ever been or ever will be
and the only thing that matters
a tangled mess of ligaments and flesh strewn together like a marionette guided by strings called neurons
my brain playing make-believe with false pretense
keeping secrets and shining lights on
the monsters underneath my bed

I cry because I like to remember I can
that I am able to feel the things I read about in books and see on tv
but when faced with tragedy I just shut down
and I realize I'm alone
and that brings me happiness.

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Butter

Alone with strangers in a cold dark place.
No sense of emotion, not even a trace.
The doors remain shut and the light stays off.
Beneath my hard exterior I grumble and scoff.

Who needs the warmth that the sun provides.
I do just fine or so my mind decides.
Suddenly the doors open and a hand reaches out.
I feel oily fingers and I stifle a shout.

A feeling of vertigo washes over my tub.
I begin to fly like a cheerful cherub.
There's a wrenching feeling as my lid is removed.
I'm stabbed through the heart, my body is grooved.

The feeling of pain only lasts a short time.
Then a feeling overtakes me that is quite sublime.
I feel myself softening in the daytime heat.
For the first time ever my heart begins to beat

I'm alive I shout and my soul begins to love.
The emotions fit me perfectly just like a glove.
Is this what I've been missing my entire life?
Maybe I'll ask Mrs. Butterworth to be my wife.

With a start I begin to move towards the box.
If I had hands I would struggle and throw rocks.
No I wordlessly scream as I head into the light.
I can feel the cold air and my soul turns white.

Some time passes by and the hardening begins.
I really prefer to be alone here in the bin.
I'll stay here with the darkness as my friend.
Better than to fall in love and lose it all in the end.