they hide behind their sunglasses in night
they want you to believe they were born cool
that they were just the right degree of self aware since first breath
and only fell down stairs when people weren't looking

they value their two cents at a round dollar
and flock to pens with ensured traffic and eaten grass

they walk out of doors in slow motions
in the rise-and-descent of their tidal strut
they are in their own video
to be watched and fleeting sense of importance prevails a moment more...

they'll check store windows to see if they are still there
that there is no witness to the public private self examination

but they might need a hand
to navigate the backward steps in time
broken-vase-growing-together-again
footsteps of the hallways of their life
with no maps to confirm that, indeed, some
one  had been here before