Excuse Me

I should recuse myself because I can't excuse myself. Nothing worthy of pleading. I can think, I can write, I can bluff, bullshit, lie, plagiarize, reminisce, speculate or pontificate. I could pick something at random to rant about. I could fake it. I could versify, diversify, reversify, perversify, obversify, conversify or inversify. I'll elude, intrude and delude. How can I start with nothing and get something? Or anything? Is this an apple I see before me? That was easy, breezy, too sleazy and should make me queasy. But it's too late to recover and discover a way to peel a perfect spiral from The Fruit of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Eve comes earlier every day this time of year and it would be more fun to bite her than to complicate my life with apple ambiguity. I don't want to know that I'm naked, empty of faith, full of nothing and surrounded by desire. But I ate that apple for what seems like a reason but feels like an excuse. You need one act of faith to believe in reason and then reason claims faith is an excuse. The spiral peel uncurls; my white flag unfurls.