Alibi

I’ve been something close to radio silent
clinging onto hope beyond hope
That I’d find something akin to words
Or posture
that would breathe life into the space
that pretends to be my face,
my tongue,
my voice;
But I’ve found nothing
but a sticky SHIFT button
and a wall full of excuses
akin to nothing but my own in-ability
to be nakedly honest
about what my fingers want to type,
my heart wants to scream,
and my shoulders are willing to bear;

I play with my kids,
watch some TV,
make love to my wife,
clean, eat, shit, smile
cough, boo, cook,
read, apologize
alibi;

I drink (sometimes too much)
walk the dog; act surprised,
re-arrange books on the shelf,
chase mice,
build invisible boxes around my gut
watch the clock,
listen to music,
wish for a future better,
love the world just at much,
as I hate its guts;

I hunt fictional animals
in an app
that lets me socialize
and exercise
at the same time,
because my liver is tired,
but my feet crave a hike;

But the truth is,
when the children are asleep,
the wife is asleep,
the world is asleep,
and all I have is the darkness,
the night,
the still and the keyboard,
I’ve got nothing left to share,
but alibis–

And now, at this moment,
I find that I’m fresh out of those, too.