You bring out your articles and pronouns
your justifications and protestations.

I will not fight against the embarrassments
that we have so carefully accumulated.
I'm prepared for carnage.
That's the way I roll.
Leave now, if you want,
and we will stuff our history in storage.

I do not want to sacrifice desire for a good meal.

It's March already, and nobody seems to be hungry.
Why, I don't know. Should I sing a song about
plums? They are mysterious and full of magic,
and I am falling asleep in a dream of their sweetness.