poem: dates as sugar substitute

the mimed inadequacy – I would rather my mother
heave me over the hilt. how much is forgiven – while I,
in chosen purgatory, read
dirty books – in the spirit of the literary and other
self-justifying ghouls. is the beauty the text itself
or the object the text makes and
surrounds – does one eclipse the other. how did
they ever make a —
(wedding) and successfully the plans click,
two bullets out at
the same time – new life, shot out, new
family; in this place we will not disparage, the trees
shake and the wind-gods are welcome.
all worn out, i am partway through, let’s draft
the apology letters; the body placed out
and France will be the new mother welcoming
us after the rituals, in the final
time of rest.