we are all starved.
i love this line. I want to write a poem about it.
I also want to write a poem about the moon.  The moon is so funny!
The moon makes me laugh. Ha ha, what a silly moon.  It makes so 
much noise and at night i can't go to sleep because it is constantly
chattering.  I lay in bed and try to relax and to fall asleep.  And 
as soon as the light's turned out and I am all alone, tucked into bed, 
up to my chin, i begin to hear it. The babble of that crazy moon.  
It talks and talks about nothing. That moon is so noisy.  "Shhhh..., 
moon,"  I say to no avail.  What a silly, noisy  moon.  I want to 
invite it over for dinner.



My friends -- they aren't really my friends, they are sock puppets -- 
they don't believe me when i say that the moon is too loud.  They must 
be jealous. I know they are, because they are just dumb old socks. 
They want to hear the moon. Yup.  They can't handle the fact that I
consistently hear the moon night after night, and they don't.  So 
they tell me I'm crazy and PSYCHO.  Sure I am.  Just because I hear 
the moon and they don't, I am suddenly some kook.  Really, I am a 
cook.  But we all know I'm not nuts. I am the chosen one.  The moon 
wants to talk to me, you see.  It wants to tell me its recipe for 
goulash. And it picks me to hear, because I will listen to it.  And 
the really funny thing is that I don't even like goulash.  See, I'm 
so tired when I'm laying there, trying my best to fall asleep that I 
can't exactly listen. Or hear.  Hmmmm..... goulash....



Thinking back on this moon chattering-ness, it's sort of a buzz.  Like
"buhhhhhh" or perhaps it was "Ding, ding, shala wing bing."  Something 
is getting frapped.  Tonight i think i'll listen up.  Yeah, if that 
silly moon is choosing me, it must have something important to say about
goulash.  I love the moon, but I hate goulash.