Beam's strip across the night
call the doors without the light
like long keystones beyond their edge
and stretch between sins
to flatter their lies
of centuries to collect
and to peel the skins
to wind back the words
to pray to the witless nib
and shun the hors d'oeuvres.
So peer under the floors
of chalk versus ink
and sigh for scribblings to grey
and to strap on the faceless shrink
to lie for the left-overs
and frame their spite
and glue their ceiling
but never abandon the night