I didn’t see you yesterday, so I wouldn’t know if you were kissing tiny flowers. I like to think that you were.
When I first saw the Mississippi, I saw a dead fish floating in her muddy water.
When I first saw the Mississippi, I saw a homeless man sitting on the river bank with his worn-out Kmart specials to his nose screaming all that lives is born to die.
I couldn’t help but to be reminded of a song.
I couldn’t help to think that “crazy,” Mr. homeless guy, or your degree there-of, is a matter of opinion and let’s not confuse ”crazy” with sheer utter madness.
Perhaps your prolonged anger morphed into the abstract behavior such defined as mental illness…or at least I believe it did in your case. But, I’m just a stationary observer. I have no framed accreditations on my wall stating otherwise.
I stood and talked to you…I watched you raise your fist and saw you look over your shoulder and curse at the Memphis skyline.
I hope you get that check you were promised. I hope you no longer have to be angry. I hope you can soon buy those shiny new toe nail clippers that you so desperately need.
That’s the way it ought to be…oh, don’t you know?