clouds have nothing to do
except fascinate me
with whatever i need to see.
i ask them, "what's this?"
and they say,
"a white replica of your mind"
-or
"eighty-three takes on the jowls
of your dreams."
"what do i crave?" i want to know.
the clouds bulge various chins,
conferring over a drift of hours
then realize
the answer
is a fluffy sundae
with mountainous cream on top,
or maybe a ten-humped camel
wallowing in blueberry
wine.
Chris Crittenden, Maine, USA
Chris Crittenden lives in a remote area of the northeast coastline, in a very small town near a lighthouse. He has about three hundred poems published. Some recent acceptances are from DMQ Review, Poetic Diversity, Flutter, and Thick With Conviction.
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