Clouds
So I say if they give you lemons that taste like nails then go ahead and make them battery acid
So I say if they pave over those trees you so dearly loved, that dense forest of hardwoods that ran
along the flood plain of Wolf Pen Creek, to build a line of the most commonplace of chain
corporate eateries that drove out of business most of the local establishments, then I say this time don’t
make battery acid, don’t give yourself an ulcer or disfigure anyone’s face. Go out and stare
at the clouds, they haven’t found a way to market the clouds yet, no one as yet claims mineral
rights or owns the deeds to clouds. So I say watch the common clouds, watch them drift across the
sagacious empty blue of sky, using a tree perhaps as your reference point, and watch the way
the clouds shape-shift, how they build cathedrals up into the air and then break them silently
down right in the soft miles before your eyes, watch till time grows timeless and the sun
begins to set and you see how the rosy fingers of the sun illuminate the clouds at first, but
then the color shifts, taking on bands of purple or yellow tone, and then the sun sets further
and its light just clips the lower bumps of clouds, making them a pinkish orange, while the
rest of the clouds grow dark. Your soul is like those clouds. Luminous and light your soul
shape-shifts through the sky of your body, building splendid architectures, taking on such holy
colors. Timeless are the clouds of your unknowing where the worries of naming lemon words
break like a mirror dropped on a floor and your humble rosy heart drifts in a living peace
on its royal road to falling snow or blessing rain. That’s you, you know, sliding to life so easy from life