I don't blame a prophet for their publicist:
he could get you a slot on the TED talks. Blame
me for believing the hype, that you
could be nice. No.

Someday, boy, someday girl, they'll notice:
sin-bright, skin bruised, heart hurt holding
the keys to the echo ending only
inside of you.

Until then, one day, a billboard, digital:
Facebook link. I knew them when. Blame
marketing for the one wavering above, and
for your agreement, your acceptance of
someone less complicated
than you.