Eats

Hunger hears you when you're sleeping. It snows when you're awake. Its prose is neither bad nor good, but causes bellyache. It is a hard thing to be left wanting, as hard as simple verbs and inexpressive nouns. The dirt will be watching, whether or not it provides. Both eyes are fixed, unless the mouth refuses to be a goal. The tongue is lousy with excuses and idioms. Thoughts of taste overcome calorie realities briefly, but the stomach is mightier than the mind in the end. There may be many connections upstairs but there are more creatures down. Those wigglers depend on the attic's luck turning cards into potatoes. So bake haste and watch waste for crumbs. Every bite counts. Every amount is a fountain of rapacious uncouth.