We like to help people
in our collective confusion,
writing on the city streets
with it's stories to tell
even-
especially-
when we resent the stories they told yesterday.

I want to help you.
I'll fix your broken toy.
It's eyes go uneven on its plastic of a face,
don't they?

I'll tell you a story
about you're patchwork toys and
instruments.
I don't know what they do either
but you seem to care.
So I'll help you,
joyous self-parody and plastic dolls
with eyes uneven on their face.

I'll tell you my story--
walking on broken glass;
a journey to the ice cream store at Christmastime
barefoot. Breathing in the nothing.

We're balancing irony on your nose
between your eyes uneven
relishing in the smell of melted
plastic, dried
glue, frozen
self-parody smoking in the microwave,
and me,
scrapbooking our stories to tell next to yesterdays-
resentment and broken and confusion,
helping you like I promised.