Don't fall in love with a girl who reads.
The girl who feels everything, who dreams, who writes..

Fall in love with the girl you find in a bar. Find her in the squall of smoke and sweat of an upscale nightclub. Make sure she doesn't mix her coffee with bourbon. Love the one shooting tequila straight from a cheap, half-empty bottle. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure it lingers a little too long. Use pickup lines and entertain her with meaningless slurs from a long day and mistakes you know are about to be made. Take her outside and kiss her in the rain because you saw it in a film. Comment on its silliness.

Pull her into a tolerable relationship. Let the months pass by without remark. Then let years pass by unnoticed. Talk about nothing of significance and retreat into it when the air grows stale and the evenings become long. Fight about how the shower curtain needs to be kept closed. Propose a little later because you realize you'd have wasted so much time otherwise. Take her to a restaurant that wreaks of marinara sauce and sheepishly ask the waiter to bring a bottle of expensive champagne. Offer up a modest ring and don't become too concerned if you feel nothing of sincerity or commitment. But fake it, ******* it.

Do these things. Because a life lived in purgatory is better than one lived in hell. She will make it hell. I'm begging you, stay away from the one who reads. Who laughs or cries when she makes love. Who can neatly fold her spirit and spin it into prose and poetry. If she loves poetry, run away. Don't dare to look back. She is to be left alone. Dangerous little smiles should make you shake. Do not smile back.

Do not fall in love with a girl who thinks. Who is made up of magic and knows herself. Do not love the one who knows how to disappear inside of a book or a poem or a painting. If she spends any more than a few seconds looking into the eyes of a sinner, get out of there.

Don't fall in love with the girl who is interested in politics, who feels disease in injustices. Don't love the one who is intense, who is lucid and charismatic. Stay away from the one who has any sense of ambition, of rebellion, or even the smallest hint of wonder in her eyes. Be cautious of the ones who can't live without music. If she can draw, quit, and quit fast.

A girl who reads is one who knows herself; who is sure. She is educated and she is fire inside a bottle of rye. The girl who reads is one who is comfortable with goodbyes. Think about it: she's read millions of novels and each one ends. Most end with the death of her favorite character. They make her think. And she flies through the pages like they are wet wine on collarbones. And she is okay with each and every ending. Sure, she might cry, but she'll wipe her face and pick up another book. Just to do it all over again. Remember this if she ever says her favorite book is you.

She is a romantic and how can you match up to the princes and heroes in her books? She knows nothing else. You can't love her the way those characters could if they were to take shape. She holds a vocabulary that lays claim to her ability to distinguish between the specious and the soulless. She holds rhetoric hands that turn black streaks into the books she loves so deeply. She deserves a man who can hold her hand the way she holds her books. Someone who can write her notes and hide them in her lunch box. Can you write in cursive the way she can?

Please, don't fall in love with a girl who reads. Because a girl like that, you never come back from.

Marinara is my favourite kind of pizza.
I mean, I can’t really have any others...
Yes, I am one of those ‘annoying vegans’
But I also don’t like the non-dairy cheeses.

I used to order the gluten-free version.
So, I guess I am even more annoying.
However, the dough was so dry and weird
I just could never enjoy it.

I’ve tolerated it though for maybe 4 times.
But seriously, it was quite nasty.
So, please, just get the normal Marinara,
Unless you've got celiac disease.

In which case,
I'm sorry,
You gotta have to get the gross pizza.

She's adorable. With her golden eyes and that cute laugh... If only she loved me back... If she'll come, maybe.
"Holy Rome!! ^^"
"Italy!"
She came!
"Holy Rome, what did you invite to this flower field for?"
"I just wanted to... enjoy the beautiful sight with you... build our alliance..."
"That sounds wonderful!" She picked flowers and sat down next to me.
"I picked you some flowers! Aren't they nice?"
"Yeah... They are pretty. Thank you."
She smiled in excitement and ran around the field. After a while, she got tired and sat down.
"Holy Rome! Look! The sunset!" She pointed at the sky.
The sky was orange and pink and we watched as it quickly set under the horizon.
After the sunset, Italy went home and left me all alone on the flower field, her flowers still in my hands. Another opportunity missed. To tell her I love her. To share my thoughts and feelings for her. For that romantic kiss during the sunset I was planning. Maybe next week.
---
I trudged home quickly and quietly, I just missed my moment to tell HRE how much I really love him... when i skipped through the vibrant field he brought me to, all i could think about was how he brought me here anyhow he was watching me the whole time... i could feel the red blood rushing to my cheeks, even now on the porch of austria as i sweep, just from thinking about HRE...

I sigh and continue to sweep, back and forth, back and forth, scampering all around the house, in a hazy daydream of HRE and me... oh how i love his tender smile... and the way he takes power and shows strength to all the other countries... I'm glad he and i are making an alliance... it gives me another excuse to see him :)

suddenly, i hear a crash.

"hey... italy..." a drunken austria walks into the room and staggers over to me. i look at him, frightened, as he leans down onto me, leaning on my shoulder and his mouth by my ear... he whispers "i love you italy..." he laughs a haggard laugh at my shocked face, his drunken alcoholic stench engulfing my nose with its smell and staggers back out the door where he came from.
I am left standing there with my broom to support me as i stare at the door, still so surprised, my mind whirring with so many thoughts....
---
Today I saw her again.
I volunteered to help her with her chores.
(at first I typed chairs ^^")
"Italy, um... do you need help... today?"
"Not right now Holy Rome, but maybe later."
**** IT. I lost my chance again.
"Are you sure?"
"Now that you mention it, where do you keep the vacuum?"
"Oh, follow me."
I showed her the way to the closet and gave her the vacuum. "Here, this is what you wanted, right?"
"Yes thank you."

I watch her vacuum as I stand to the side out of the way. The way she sings while working, the silent vacuum makes it much easier to hear her. Her occasional smile at me makes me blush every time. The way she stops and pants, it's just... adorable.

"Holy Rome?"
I snapped out of my thoughts. "Huh?"
"Can you help me put this away?"
"Oh, sure."
"Okay! Thank you!"

She surprisingly has manners. If only she could teach some people those manners, because then this life would be a whole lot easier! But, after I helped her put the vacuum away, she turned around and KISSED me! She kissed me, **** it! She told me she was leaving soon to another country.
"But, you can't!" I said. I was so upset I couldn't handle it.
"I'm sorry... I have no choice." She looked as if she was about to cry.
"Hey, Italy. Even if we don't see each other again, just remember that I love you..."
"Okay, I will."
---
I gathered my items into a suitcase and left that day.
I miss him already... i left him with that confused and tearful face of his... oh how sad... i didn't tell him i love you... how could i forget? DX but i gave him the kiss... maybe he'll understand my true feelings for him....

with these jumbled thoughts, i leave for vienna... where i shall stay with austria, he has offered me work in his summerhouse, in exchange i get to stay in his house to sleep... hopefully i can become stronger in a new country, and be like HRE.. i sigh and shake away my dreamy, starry eyes.

---

After the trip, i finally arrive to austria's house. he greets me at the front door, with what i think was an attempt at a **** smile? I'm not sure what he has in mind, after the stun he pulled the other day when he was drunk. i push the thought away and focus on preparing the lavish dinner he has put me up to, with glazed duck confit, salads, soups, everything.

i set up the table and serve all the food in the main dining room table. he sits on one end and on the other end of the long table, theres an empty chair. he simply says, "Go get changed into something presentable, then come down here and join me for dinner."
I look at him in shock, quickly recover, and run up to my room to follow his orders.
---
I went home, seriously depressed and beaten. Why? She's so sweet and nice that it's just too sad to think about. Oh, Italy...

Wait, she said something about going to Austria's... that must mean forever! I was pretty sure that maybe she could come back one day. But I guess not now that I know exactly where she's going... she might not come back. I won't ever see her again. Our "goodbye" wasn't even long enough for a goodbye that meaningful... I wish I could say goodbye at least one more time.

I walk into my home and sit on the couch. I'm too depressed to do anything. I don't want to eat, I don't want to walk, I don't want to breathe but I have to...
---
I rush down to the dining room, with the finest tux that i own and sit down in the chair across from Austria. He looks at me with a new look i havent seen before... im not sure what it is but it seems... familiar.. in the creepiest way. i shyly look up at him as i tuck the tissue into my shirt. he watches me even more closely this time and i look away.

"why dont you have some pasta, italy?"

i greedily take some pasta, pour the heavenly marinara over the perfectly cooked noodles. it is divine, and i slurp up the noodles with a fervor so unmannered, i blush at my rudeness, but im too hungry to stop.

i can still feel his stare.

is it what i think it is...?
lust? 0~0
---
Now you have to eat, Holy Rome!
But I don't want to.
You have to!
I don't want to!!!!!!!
Fine. Just watch the plate of perfectly made pasta you made yourself right in front of you go to waste, then!

I sigh as I catch myself fighting with myself. "Had to be pasta, didn't it? HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE! YOU ARE SUCH A BAKA!" I yell at myself. I suddenly start remembering all the fun we had together. At the Neko Festival, where we dressed as cats and danced together. In the flower field a few days before.

I started humming "Draw A Circle" to cheer myself up. But then it just makes me remember when Italy and I made a duet of our own...

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pk9nQzW30bI )

After I think about how much fun we've had together in the past, I think about her twin brother, Southern Italy. I've never met him before, but from what I hear from Austria, he sounds like a ****. I'm kind of glad that Italy doesn't have some of her childhood with him.

Wait a minute.

If Southern Italy is ruled by Austria and Italy is too...

I have to save her!

I have to force myself to stand.

STAND HRE!

I finally stand up and quickly run out the door. Italy! I have to save her! Please let her be safe! Safe from Southern Italy! PLEASE!
---
I blush and look down at my food. it can't be...

"how r u liking ur food, italy?" he asked with a weird smile and a strange tone to his voice...
i tentatively replied, "pasta is always good. um.... may i be excused? i have some work to get done?" he stared at me with a bit of disappointed, replying quietly, "whatever you need to do, my dear." i quickly left, all the while feeling his strong stare on my back. i shudder and hurry up the stairs and slam the door quickly, locking it as well.

well that was creepy. i wish HRE was here, he'd protect me and id be able to confide in him on what i think austria is up to.

I settle down on to my bed after i brush my teeth and change.
mmmm.... so soft.....

right before i settle off to sleep, i hear a sudden noise, a crash. i rush outside my room and quickly head to austrias room to see if he is ok.

"... mmmm oh italy is so cute.... i just want to kiss him sometimes.... and his cooking... simply marvelous..." muffled noises are heard from the room. i back up hesitantly, unsure what to do as i can see a faint outline of him holding a picture... of me. i back away slowly, completely freaked out. i try to escape his notice as quietly as possible.

too late.

"italy? is that you i hear, my dear?"
I stop, unsure what to do. austria comes out the room, still clutching the picture of me and wraps his arms around me. I stand stiff, incapable of moving.
"you look so **** in those pajamas of yours..." he whispers eerily into my ear. i turn red, and try to get out of his grasp,but he is too strong... he pulls me closer towards him and begins to kiss my neck...i gasp and squirm trying to get him too stop, but he just pushes me against the wall and pins me there. he starts tugging at my shirt and I struggle to break free.

suddenly a loud bang explodes through the hallway.
austria doesnt stop, he starts to take my shirt of, bit by bit, trailing a line of kisses and moans down to my now bare chest.

he whispers... "i see southern italy has arrived to help me..." he looks up, and gives me over to southern italy.
No! why?
I close my eyes shut, too scared too look.

Suddenly, another bang.
"who's this?" austria asks southern italy as southern italy continues to caress my pale, heaving chest, him moaning every so often.

"ITALY!" HRE yells as he comes to the rescue.

I open my eyes to see him charge at Austria.
---
I headbutted him. I kicked him. I scratched him. I did as much as I could to get him off of Italy. I pulled him away finally. Why the hell is Southern Italy here too?
"Southern Italy?!"
"What is it you *******?"
"Why are you here?"
"Because I feel like it!"
(All of this was happening as Austria is passed out on the floor!!!!)
Italy was standing there, her shirt off- WHAT?! I blocked my eyes so I could help put her shirt on without seeing anything.
"Why are you being so cautious?" Southern Italy asked/
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"You don't have to block your eyes..." Italy said. "Austria told me what was happening..."
"What?!"
Southern Italy sighed and said, "You idiotic *******! Italy is a guy!"
I froze. What? How? I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I looked at Italy with he- um... HIS shirt off, it's true... She's a boy.
I started to cry without warning and ran away. I couldn't bare it. I kissed him, I hugged him, I LOVED him! A guy! It's official...

Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the ***-less toys
The ****-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…

Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…

I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit

Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *******, evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.

Guida & Me drove up to the ***** D
In my whip there was co-pilot Bryx and Captain Sleezy E
We rolled up to my yerp bro Brad D's
Next were greeted by Dino whos drinking a 40
Labatt Blue bonging and ponging like were competing for beer drinking glory
Then its onto asweome fries, saganaki, and telling funny stories
That night was crazy and a definite blast
Woke up the next day to see Dino's Dad's spot and gasp!
Walk into the kitchen to see Grandma Rontondo cooking homemade marinara
Smelling fresher than the lobby inside of a Panera
Next it's downstaris to the "Thunderdome," mindblow is all I can tell ya!
The food was amazing with Uncle D on the grill
Sammy the Bull said "Plastic Cups!" so that was the deal
Party was wild, popping bottles in other words unreal
Zoo was great, conductor swag was for real
Tigers beat the Twins, and that night it was freestyling, speeches, and Labatts on chill
Like the words of Willie Nelson the ***** D stays on my mind
I'll never forget that trip like my brain is a VCR and has the element of rewind!

Oh, the jar exults high
holding what we find to be dear
Oh, the marinaras keen zest, umami, and as I close my eyes
I hum the hunger tune.
Oh, but without the curved ridge and open space
the sauce would never grace my face
The jar! The jar,
the vehicle of delicious  
who was passed through many hands
and crafted with hot sand.
Oh, tomato, garlic, and onion so sweet
and delivered neat, for me to eat.

It feels like someone took a knife to my back,
and tore open my skin in one, slow motion.

It feels like the person reached into the gaping hole,
and is still pulling on my muscles, my ribs, and my lungs.

The someone is pulling and twisting on my insides,
their big hands attacking me from behind.

The person stops, and my hopes rise.
Then the someone shoves the knife into my open wound.

Twisting and pulling again,
this time with the original offender.

My muscles are angel hair,
covered in my own marinara sauce.

Playing with its food,
the someone twists my strands,

she slices them,
slicing me again.

Soon the whole me
will be bits of me.

As long as she keeps twisting and pulling,
I’ll continue my way to my death bed.

My death bed,
covered in angel hair.

My death bed,
covered in my marinara sauce.

It was October of 1966 and he was 9.
He walked proudly
through the scary Brooklyn streets,
searching for that one corner he saw-
on the ride home from PS 361,
back when he was 8.
An entire 3 blocks from home,
and he arrived at Mamma Rosa’s.
“World Famous Taste."
he would taste it soon enough.
(He didn’t know it, but Mamma’s was only famous
for the pizza grease layer over the checkered table cloths).

He mastered the menu with his 3rd grade reading skills.
The “marr-in-ay-ruh” sauce sounded tasty.

The steaming spaghetti came towards his window seat,
and Billboard’s Top 10 Singles played over his noodle noises.

“Mother’s Little Helper” by The Stones was new to him.
He twisted his pasta to the beat of the sitar.
The spicy guitar chords and zest of the marinara on his tongue. . .
The al dente string
swayed
from his stinging lips and to the beat of the bass.

He paid in three quarters he got from the landlord.
He swept the driveway every Sunday.
It was the best sauce he will have ever tasted.
“What a drag it is-
getting old.”

The first time you said it, it was raining.
I'd just taken my final, and had that sick, certain feeling that I'd failed it.
We were standing by your car and somewhere in the
midst of my rant about unfair grading practices,
and sexist Psych professors...
You. Just.  Said it.

And all I could think was,
I wonder when grades will be posted?

The next time, we were sitting on my couch.
We had just finished dinner and were watching some old movie.
I remember Jimmy Stewart's voice distinctly,
So I know I picked the movie.
You were tickling me, and right in that moment when I lose all control
and give in to the giggles...
You said it again, mostly to yourself, but I heard.

And all I could think was,
I wonder if Jimmy Stewart was ticklish?

The last time, we were eating Italian.
I had gotten marinara sauce on my favorite blue dress,
and as I was trying to get it out, I spilled my water everywhere.
You just laughed that booming laugh of yours,
and then your eyes got dark, serious.
You took my hands in yours and watching my face closely,
you said it again.

And all I could think was,
I wonder if lemon juice will lift this stain?

The only time I said it, was on a Thursday.
Lunch had just ended and we were standing by the swings.
It was really windy so you pushed my hair out of my face.
That's when I almost said it,
but you started to speak.
I just smiled.

My smile must have hurt you,
because you looked away when you told me we wanted different things.
And I didn't say anything.
Instead, I watched you walk back towards the white brick building.
When you were almost there, you paused and started to turn back to me...
then stopped yourself and went inside.

And in that moment, when you were safely out of my reach,
I said it.
Because it was all I could feel since the day that we started.

No one ever heard me,
*but I love you, too.

Hot dogs get chili
Burgers get mustard
Porterhouse gets steak sauce
At least the last I heard.
French fries don’t get vinegar
That’s totally absurd
French fries get ketchup
At least the last I heard.

Toilet paper rolls off the top
Toilet seats need to be up.
Tea is iced and in a glass
Coffee should be in a cup.
Tuna casserole is not for men,
We need meat and potatoes.
We only like marinara sauce
Instead of raw sliced tomatoes.

Salads are lettuce and dressing
Especially of the cheesy kind.
Eggplant is all plant and no egg
And tastes like watermelon rind.
Finger sandwiches are a waste
Especially those with watercress.
Cold borsht served in flat bowls
Is not much more than a mess.

Sushi is nothing else but
Some overdressed hunks of bait.
Pork bellies are pudgy bacon
And deserve a better fate.
Sweet breads are neither;
Sweet nor are they bread.
Steak tartar is just raw meat
And should be cooked instead.

Brunch is a truly silly word
One needs make up the mind.
Either have lunch or breakfast.
I don’t mean to be unkind.
We can be a confusing culture;
Combining things so badly.
Give me the basics, nothing more,
And I will go imbibe quite gladly.

It is windy.

"This whole day has been turbulent,"
I think as we make our way down the beach.
It is a day so warm you can feel the heat
burning dumbly off of the sand itself.

And yet the day was cold.

The wind whips my bangs into eyes,
an obvious strike of envy at their brilliant blue
or a strike of malice at my incredulous conceit.
I whine on about my needs, my hopes, myself.

And yet you never seemed cold.

The wind does not whip your marinara hair
rather yet the frame of your face floats, glides,
drifting in the colorless jealousy of the wind.
The tide is rising and we are being cut off.

Urgency, urgency. The wind is jealous.

We walk and talk and sing and hold hands
and all seems well for a few moments.
And in those precious seconds where our worries are lost
the dear ravaged wind dies down, then back, then down again.

Urgency, urgency. The wind is dying.

So I know wha t we say
and i know how we say it
but why why why
THERES  too many lines i think
to stay in one at once
so where do we go
when theres nowhere else to go
but here
or maybe there if thats what you into
but im defnitiely not into that dude
so you better stay the **** away
or i may go crazy and rip your marinara
into a new toilet cloth for the towels
and then you will have noooooo
idea what the **** i just said

Two men
Strung to the poles
Bedazzled in love

A girl
At the apex
Stringing them along

A classic triangle
Hopeless romance of sorts.

They meet on the decision day
Under the cherry blossoms
The girl having made her mind

said,

“No thanks I like my triangles with crust, marinara, and mozzarella spread.”

you stand on the corner of your just-gone home, dirt from below the torn-up asphalt making its way beneath your sunglasses, the distance between now and then something you can no longer stretch your knees and step over. your first love is boarded up across the street, succumbed finally to the burn of nineteen’s shallow pockets and standing in the way of a new apartment complex. you walk on, humming so you can’t hear the heavy step of all that’s taking your place. it’s a strain on your ventricles, loving and losing and owning and letting go, when you’re here again. knowing the porch’s soft wood at number 18 while the door is bolted and a stranger’s boots line your closet floor.

it’s not all lockouts and dire prognoses. your tomorrow professes to accommodate a higher wattage than the sconces in your old room, and your visits taste like love and memory and breakfast, and his bed is warmer than your own because he’s in it, and he welcomes you home like that’s what it still is. it feels like he’s not wrong to say so—sometimes, you still belong there. cold coffee in hand from the farthest corner where they know your order still. an opinion on which pizza joint has better marinara. a favorite bathroom. an indelible mark on your old library desk. some of it is yours.

but some of it isn’t. some never was, and some has slipped through your fingers. you hum a little louder as the months go by and the boarded windows give way to a brand-new storefront—one that never knew you at nineteen—so you can’t hear the heavy step of all that’s taking your place. but you keep coming back.

i have no idea how many hours she toiled
in the community kitchen before i arrived,
but she’d made a *** of tofu stew, a bowl
of rice and beans, some spinach lasagna
soaked in marinara, hummus
and daiya cheese sandwiches.
diligent and dutiful,
without question,
without expectation.

an hour later, we stood in Lykes Gaslight Park,
doling out food to the houseless folks
who’d lined up for a vegan meal
when, out of the blue, a well-dressed
college student swaggered up to us,
his smile shimmering, and asked
what we were doing.

she brushed a loose strand
of hair behind one ear,
smearing a bit of sauce
across her cheek,
and said, “we are here to live
as if we are already free.”

they were sharing food too,
he explained, which was all well
and good. but we couldn’t help but notice
they’d never set foot here in the past,
that they only came out
when the season
passed into the holidays.

“you know,” he told us,
“you might not realize,
but the Lord Jesus Christ
is using you for the gospel.”
which seemed rather strange,
given that he’d be back
in his sanctuary before the year
was out, raising his hands
and praising his dead god
instead of standing beside us
every Tuesday and Saturday,
sharing.

but we remember the legacy
of the radical Nazarene,
the anarchic revolutionary
who fed five thousand—
a conquest of bread
with nothing but a few loaves
and some fish.
if you listen closely,
you can still hear him whispering,
“take what you need,
give what you can.”

we carry a new world
in our hearts and heads.
we don’t feed the hungry
to win a one-way trip to heaven.  
so when you forget
about the poor you use as a prop,
we godless few will remain
in the streets until every belly’s full
and capitalism collapses—
risking arrest, fighting abuse,
addiction and empty stomachs.

If I don't ****** a doe it's eggplant parmesan for dinner.
Wait no no.... gotta use those nice zucchini and yellow summer squash too, add a lil provolone, with a homemade marinara, some asiago and a basil leaf to boot.  Fresh garden Napoleons....but it would be so much better with a rosemary skewered venison filet....here deer. .here deer.

I now understand the non-crust people
The people who don't eat the pizza crust

You know those people?
The ones who don't eat the crust after they finish the pizza?

When the marinara
The mozzarella
And the accoutrement are gone
That last piece of bread
With nothing else on it
Nothing but crust
You know those people?
You probably grew up with those people
The non-crust people
And you ask
Why don't you want your crust?
My favorite part is the crust!
And they say
I just don't need it.
I just don't like the crust.

Why don't they want the crust?
What's so bad about just bread?
There's nothing wrong with the crust
I never thought there was anything wrong with the crust
I genuinely did love the crust.

But I've reached a point,
Where I've had too much crust
And not enough of what makes a pizza,
A pizza

who doesn't like a tablecloth

whose interim offers a hand

of marinara sauce--

familia style, sighing before

a spread?

Joe Gallo face-planting a

rhetorical question outside

of: Umberto's Clam House.

he dug beat poetry...

& keeping a lion in his

basement.