You'll be calling out my name when you need someone to blame...

GOD!
I wanted to tell you
when you said "used book store"
all about the ones I visited.
I wanted to tell you about the gems --
all the ones I own --
and tell you how fortune finds me.

DAMNIT!
You told me about your practice;
this strange view of the world from mountainous plains.
I looked second-hand through your Viewmaster
to find the world colourful, naked, and needy.
You've given an identity the need for an identity
and tears ocean-wide scar(s) stretch/fall on my back.

CHRIST!
I've always been blasphemous, but said no wrong
and you listened, replied, tongue-lashing my frontal lobe.
These pictures of you display dichotomy I love:
The unremarkable you, a snap-shot of still potential
and the remarkable you, commanding my forced subtlety.
When I learned your last name, I just hoped you hated Frank.

FUCK!
When you left last night, I was drunk.
The alcohol -- pardon the cliche -- had nothing to do with it.
And I can't help but feel I've lied to you
about who and what I am -- like Goodman pretending to be Candy.
Forgive me, m'lady, but if I could only be a knight
rather than dress as one to fool you.