Litter On My Mind

Litter on my mind When I walk into the garden of my mind I sometimes pick up weeds that must be rid of in the cold light of sanity. A person, from the past, sent me a rancid email claimed I had been lying when telling him I had crossed the Sahara barefoot when it was a simple spelling mistake He also claimed that I had only been a cobbler's assistant and that knew nothing about upper soles of clogs; it is a mystery how he found out I thought my abstract world was mine alone. I'm told the rude, offensive person dabbles in electric matters. I played with the idea of writing a devastating riposte to this person, but two hurt people do not make one person sane I dignified silence is the best answer.