I make mistakes.
Hearts, I do break.

But mine’s broken, all the time.

I’m flawed as can be.
And all I can see
is that I’m always several
steps behind.

Try as I might,
I often lose sight,
of tracks traced by space
and time.

Fearful as hell.
I figure, “Oh well.”
At least I have a dime.

But then,
on the street,
I see someone needs to eat. So
I reach in my pocket
and give them
what’s mine.

Now I’m metaphorically broke
and I know somewhere
there’s a joke.

But, I just can’t laugh
at this time.