Poetry on the Atkins Diet


 Wanders in the desert, like a sugar deprived Frankenstein, searching high and low for meaning

The muse has almost forgotten what a calorie is, when it nearly stumbles over a scorpion, absorbed with his next meal.

Hovering now, as the scorpion’s sharp claws penetrate

a freshly presented prosciutto, goat cheese, and fig stuffed insect; regurgitating a half-eaten, Panera Bread Panini.

Because THAT may satisfy the need. The craven muse nods in wonder as

the scorpion proceeds to gorge itself on a semi-sweet deliciously odorous arthropod chunk dipped in chocolate

pausing briefly, to neatly pincer another, and another, ingesting far more than its daily share of total net Carbs, clipping the diet gladly, to shreds.

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