What Is Not

My twisted alibi, the silent who
and almighty why

or misplaced where. Or what
as in what went wrong

and when. What is not
turned sideways or backwards?

A lifeless rut, a knot,
in my most likely never

and all for naught,
not knowing if I aced the test.

Notwithstanding,
it kneels to reason

if not is the godless spot
of who I am. I forgot.