The Little Words Mean the Most

Sim One: trying to say one more thing

 

I would have laughed, my love.

Not to your face; to my face, I guess. Share us both some pain.

Or a morning coffee where pain is sipped ... except your drink would have been sputtering, reluctant, what is this? Cocoa? Cheers!

I read like red meat whatever people kindly shovel my way. Books about Jesus. Books about surviving. Books about wisdom. Great thoughts. Books that build a tall column of hope and understanding and future next to my now-alone bed. Welcome to new foundations.

Thank you, Sim One. Thank you. Thank you.

For lighting the way, down many roads and lanes and alleys. Lighting me up, anyway. Now it's my sole job: to keep our flashlight batteries fresh (flashlights are scattered around the house like mice) ... and the generator you won into our home during a hurricane that caused a week's worth of outage while I was away in Australia; to keep that extraordinary machine in peak condition (I haven't and the snow forecast for the next few days isn't good)

 

 

Talking to friends ... maybe U entrepreneurs

yes U below come on

                                                                                                                                                                                              

this is how successfull

 

thank you foot

 

on flip

 

U see yourself in whatever frame

 

-----

 

been listening to the Jimmy Carter tributes

 

One insider camp called him "the meanist person I've ever met" ~ bcuz he wanted to get certain things done FAST

 

I have confirmation from a top-diplomat friend, who guided Jimmy in his post-presidency years around Nigeria: brilliant, impatient, a prick, clear-sighted; essential virtues NOT highly prized at that time, any time, in those armored limousines stuck in traffic

 

where are U, am I, on that spectrum? get more done? get people to like me?

 

 

The last song Simone and I witnessed live

 

In Worcester, MA.

We were maybe the oldest people in the audience. Our feet were glued to spilled drinks. Rows above treated us with kindness. Rows below, on the stadium floor, fans punched each other ... with joy! Their reason for attending; not ours. We stood for hours as the concert unfolded. Simone and I danced, as people in their early 70s do. We'd come for one song, though. It was the last song of the night.

THIS:

 

 

Praying, a fresh desperate attempt

 

Might as well

Wept before my shrink

This morning I found myself praying on my knees to gods I don't know

in a hot shower, first shower in 4 days

HELP ME

 

your turn