there were pizza and grapes on the counter
i couldn't choose which one to eat

i know pizza is bad for me, but i like it
and i know grapes are better for me, but i prefer pizza

so, i went with the pizza.

and now, im hurt.

You know it will burn,
but you bite it anyway,
because it tastes good.

Pizza are Italy's handprint on your lover's neck
Seek the deep meaning under the cushions of Neptune's couch
I mean, there's money and food in there?
In is Outside
Inth Ere

The dough spins above,
Launched from floured hands, they wait.
Curse that ceiling fan.

“of late, I have been falling in and out of love with words.” (Pradip)

Dear Pradip,

yeah had them symptoms too, pizza and penicillin, lost my sense of taste and smell, but neither helped, guessing gets tougher, when older, all those associated, assorted, amazing never ending, abracadabra, baptismal-bathing-broadening, buttered-up jobs & responsibilities when your suddenly taller by a new generational addition to the family tree, which means much more concerning, burning worrying words, you dare not say aloud, cause Shiva is too interested, and has too many arms, in interfering with your many small pieces of composure in pandemic days.

Sorry, buddy got no solution, maybe rubbing alcohol, maybe hard liquor, prayers on knees to a 57 variety of deities, try a different temple, start the week on a Wednesday, learn to rhumba, practice meditation way out loud, be annoyingly concerned bout everybody else, offer to do all the kids homework, buy the wife a new dress so you can have an argument regarding wasting money, so you can kiss and make up, heck and ****, you could even write crazy words in any order your personal dictionary commands, reorganizing them in reverse order, and then slapdash them together and call it stew,

don’t matter as long as you got the jaw jawing, the eyes winking, the people looking at you like you gone cuckoo mad, tell your children how much you love them in the middle of day, wave to a neighbor across the street, the gossipy one who always spying on you, sing some cowboy ***-on-little-doggie lullabies, interspersing a Yellow Submarine, croon A Long and Winding Road, and Do Not Forget to include Let It Be, preach with a whang damnastic fever to the street peddlers, then ask for a better price, by now your not-so-well repute will precede you, everyone be offering a cool drink, or hot tea, fresh paneer, really big discounts, the most comfy chair, asking what else ya need, tell ‘em a pen and some paper, please, and everyone will be relieved! cause you back to merely, plain, ordinary crazy, simply composing that wonderful poetry you love to
w r i t e
and everything is
r i g h t
in the world.

other than that, got no consoling words. Sorry.

Sincerely,

The Natster

I stumble pajamaed, half asleep toward the object of my desire.
in memory, it calls to me, of passionate pleasures experienced prior.
The morning's night is the consummate time for secret rondeaus discrete.
With ninjaly sneak I arrive at the door - my illicit joy within reach.
But to my horror I find the pizza gone - again, my trust is breached!

do you want anything
from the shops
she said
it used to be pizza and beer
nowadays just
you home safely
my love

I told her about the pizza place
The one I bought in a dream

"We'll meet there in our dreams"
What a promise
"I'll make the dough, you'll choose the toppings"
What a programme

"We'll meet" she said
"We'll meet" she repeated
Again and again
Until she stopped

Now she meets another one in her dreams
What a let down