Wherein the Thought of Food Makes Me Lose My Appetite

Not to say that it shouldn’t, but rather, the direct approach is shunned

The naive approach is scorned

And honesty is a whistling bottle hurled through the air to catch some peace and rays


Still stymied the lust for adventure itself is craven

One wants too much when want is all but too little to have for a forthright sinking feeling in the basin where our last home drained its wishes

Some say

But not one single one knows of it

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