Wednesday, Dec. 11, 2002, 10:37 PM

Silly poem

My occipital lobe would perspire with the strain
Of composing a rhyme in the style of a quatrain
To titillate, amuse and drive you to glee
And perpetuate your ever-growing desire for me
When all that I want from this moment to the next
Is to lead a life where I am not constantly perplexed
By the actions or reactions of the opposite sex
That most often leave me feeling moody and depressed