The Mouse

The mouse knows my secrets.
I have no bloody knives,
No discarded syringes.
There is no paper trail
In the shape of a noose.
But the mouse knows my secrets.
The only bones I keep are
Made of stone and could
Never hang in my closet.
Still, the mouse knows my secrets.
My money, when I have some
Is ordinary under blacklight.
If you run my plates you see
Traffic violations, but the
Wheels are within the law.
No hits run from, no saves.
No heat packed. No shells
Except the ones I make when
I squeeze raw clay in my hand.
But the mouse—it knows.
The spyware whispers.
I have no hidden offshore
Accounts, no dealings with
Crossroad devils at dusk.
No dark market business,
No lurking sins of eyes.
No children harmed,
No hack, no foul.
Yet the mouse knows secrets.
It runs journals, walls, and streets.
The mouse knows secrets
My heart would disavow.