Many me.

Sometimes I walk and I am mostly running. Other times I am standing and glad to know her. Today I walk across town and I am just grateful for ambient light, a tuxedo in the works and a brain that, though idle, has not given up hope yet.

There are boisterous clouds. There is the hope of sleeping til noon. There are men that look to see that other folks have locked their bikes. There is never animosity. There is never bland competition. There is never doubt about what I do, whatever that is. There are slicks to the road that I will find when I ride again, there are places in the world where I can spell my name out loud with pride. There is me in a sweater, there are twenty orphans that have a place to sleep tonight. There is a reason for all this and it is not Reiki. There are miles to go before I sleep, and there is noise in my ears. There is the wallop of a truck jumping on and then off the curb into a puddle at your feet, you happy that you caught the puddle not the tire. There is the resemblance between today's clouds and ones you saw in July. Over those hills is another world.

Sometimes I walk across town and get mad for it. I curse every cab and every bus I just miss. Today I walk proudly, without prejudice, with a bag full of weight, thinking there is no better place in the world to have to stare and be stared at by strangers.

Whatever there is, there is absolutely no need for my Christmas cards. Bless it all. And all that aside, I am a lyrical Jessie James.