clouds

the moon was full some time ago and now it is disappearing again. chug, chug, chug up the mountain, we do. we do. the light is spectacular in the morning and i'm reminded of haikus i'd like to write. why haikus? why write? why anything really. haikus like clouds dotted across blushing skies.

i imagine that with enough coffee to bombard my bones those hard parts of me will liquify, rendering me formless but unfortunately not weightless. i'd like that, the formlessness that is. and if i were weightless, or perhaps as a compromise to the absurdly unattainable, if i were of less weight i could become a cloud and morph, morph, morph into something else entirely. a squid, a man with a wheelbarrow, Florida, all within a minute. how miraculous!

is it wrong to envy clouds? clouds who are so gentle and clean even when they're storming? wild bill apparently rode a funnel cloud. i can't much imagine a cloud would allow itself to be disgraced in such a manner. and yet, there it is the literature, a man saddles a wild cloud, or was it a twister or a hurricane or a mushroom cloud above some city we'll remember when watching drawn shadows on our living room walls like people nearly forgotten? memories get distorted and visions clouded.

chug, chug, chug up the mountain in a van full of sleepy people and i want to be a cloud. is it a disorder? is it in the DSM IV? to feel a cloud in a human body?