The credits recover,
and suddenly like a k9 you snuffle the criminal boyhood out of my skin.
I always think myself circumspect in my cover-ups, but in seconds you know where my blindspot is.
I should have known:
all felons must brace themselves for the day they buckle under the imperative of jurisprudence, the inexorable rapture of arrest.
Now, I pray. Pray you will lead me into good hands, screen me from my
impending shame. No Miranda rights there may be in our nation, but I will be primed for this
long arm of our law.