in the midnight hour
desperate men do desperate things,
this a tale of one man
facing down a terrible challenge

in the city that never sleeps, NYC,
especially this sleepless natty resident,
(of that fact, the bible speaks)
when there is nothing left to write or say,
could pick up the phone and order
penne alla ***** delivered to his bed
better yet, hot and direct

not sure
which I prefer,
the penne
or the *****

but in the absence annually
of my master mistress,
all bets are off,
she communes with nature,
I, with pasta

really?
really?

Frosted Flakes for dinner was not well and
sufficient?

have you seen you waist line lately,
or is that a physical impossibility?

drat rat

will forgo my pasta orange creamsicle,
but you will be sorry too,
cause instead you have to share,
to eat,
this awful poem in bed
next to me

12:34am