'tis no good alibi

 

'Tis no good alibi

when night's feral cats are scratching your cheeks

leaving twin defective vertical stair rails

as the blood drops pave the rhythm of your song.

 

'Tis no good alibi

when words beaks pick up the maggots

of your self-infected chest.

 

No, 'tis no good alibi

when there is a dark door obscuring

the path that leads up to your brain.

 

There, in the time

of your ruin

is your glove-disguised hand,

great revenant

of ancient sound and teenage grip.