cloud

The cloud itself

Is a fat thing

Fat and wide

And wandering

Spilling over the side of something

It’s so big I can’t quite put my finger on it

On it

On it

On it rains

So poorly

The rack of mud the rack of tracks

Wind slowly here to there

It’s so deep I’d say a word I’m not allowed to say anymore

My pallor

My pallet

My taster

On it pours

So wide it takes three guys to lift it up the stairway

But I’m the only one wearing a back brace

The cloud itself reaches back

And makes for a grab

It tries the old wrap around

It misses my ass

I like getting grabbed there

Reminds me of the past

When I cared

When I grabbed the cloud on the stool

And sat and swayed in the sun’s embrace