The Cloud Factory

the cloud factory resembles
a typical refinery smokestack
coughing up smoke and smog
into the tainted ceiling
of our beloved mother planet
It was thru an early morning fog
of my mind-vision
complete with holy aspirations
chugging along a narrow strip
of long highway 177 destination heaven
wheatfields waving hallelujah
at ya, for ya, to ya
that Wittmer pointed with a
Meriweather finger
his Spirit a compass
and discovered the Cloud Factory
pumping out what appeared to be
an industrial billow
In reality, a cloud soft as a pillow
just being born, being added
to its kin of the sky, saying
its first hello to the world
having already passed through the
mechanical fallopian tube
and floated on out the chimney
The laymen would presume it to be
at initial glance,
just another run-of-the-mill
the workers inside ensnared
by bleak tones of gray
and chemical doused monotony
this untouchable substance
to most, would seem
perhaps steam or smoke
plenty enough to make
the Marlboro cowboy choke
the Camel to come to a grinding halt
at the nearest mirage for a sip
and dip
in the merest second
and finally his back made broke
it would appear to those, thus,
who hastily drive by w/out a stop

Yet the Cloud Factory
looks exactly the way you want it to be
how you'd expect an Imagination Station
if you're peering in w/ thine right eyes
you must look deep
long deep as eternal ocean
and mean it when scouring
for hidden charms
instead of just going thru the motions

(any of us can get lost in a cloud
at any forgiven moment)

These unreal, illusionary workers
of the Cloud Factory
are cranking the gears,
turning out clouds
to fill the unfulfilled
to make their lives Satisfactory
ensuring a continual Daydream safety
to cover the far-reaching land
and here it is described by me
it doesn't always bode well
with many a melancholy-inclined
and practical fellow
this cumulus cloud, soft as a pillow
capable of harshing the mellow
and how in my description earlier
I cast a fog when I visited
and blurred the line between
reality and pretend reality
narrating from a fictional viewpoint
yet the craftsmen have drawn their draft
and cannot control the entire fate,
intention or destination
of their every single creation
and outpouring
once it's turned loose unto the sky
like a parent cannot direct
the Ultimate Path of their child
once he or she is grown
but only guide with hope
like the Poet cannot guarantee
that you will understand or see
the Poem the way he sees it
once it is exposed to the eyes
and ears and that it may
unfortunately inspire someone
to go the opposite of his wish
Yet often it does work
it all follows its own, natural course

Here, this Cloud Factory employee
wakes up day in/day out
to a jolting, unsympathetic alarm
clock wriiing in the freezerburn
pitch dark of pre-dawn
hustling to work grueling hours
so that they can decorate
the sunset w/ unpredictable
colorful kaleidoscopic swirls
palatable patterns to los ojos
Made just right to make all
hurry-scurry stop and look,
reflect and take in
a contemplation & instinctual knowledge
of precious life
an appreciation of the Beauty
of Existence
The awareness of an infinite moment
a Harmony w/ Unknown Mystery
concerning ORIGIN and Arrival
Knowing that you come from this clay
that if our sun supernovas
we are part of that energy always
The lovebirds gaze at horizons
and feel-kiss the Intensity of
their Love and know that it does
go well with the sun,
this production
the clingers to ground,
the gravity attached
peer upwards and marvel
at the populations of the sky
the cumulonimbus density
The people- the groundskeepers
from town/city/nature
see the same Sun-
though sunrise & setting
occurring at intervals
and from varying locations
around the globe- from
different peepers and essence
yet extensions of the
Universal, Singular Being
they see the fluffy elements
hanging in the air
& with the light reflecting
thru ice crystals and water droplets
y myriad shapes and forms
bearing divine, transitory
compositions hand-painted by
the whimsy of God
or whatever term you affix
to the Instigator of this Universe
It's really all just as unfathomable
that we can talk, think and dream
So there was zilch and suddenly
a huge BAMMO! explosion
and now here we are wanking off
in a modern shower
in the middle of another attempt
at washing ourselves clean
wasted seeds down drains~
an inestimable amount of hypothetical humans
all this

to alleviate a primordial urge
to explode
to procreate and prolong the species
yet spilled on purpose
for there's already overpopulation and we all need something useful to do
so they would have us think
we all need to have supplies
and be fitted with enough paper money constructed and grown from plants
that is deemed worthy
by a self-entitled government
to regard us worthwhile
of room & board
Delving headlong into an existential crisis
my head becomes cloudy
As clouds can cloud things up,
so can children grow up to be murderers
The funnel cloud lowers,
gains momentum

Young & old alike embrace
to the embellished descent of Sun
from the island of Kauai
to the bridge of Waterloo
and know that they're in Love
alongside a neverending Earthly slew

"My head is in the clouds"
takes on a new meaning from
"cloudy head"
Those despondent civilians
by the millions who let
dark congregations of clouds
dampen their spirits
need be reminded that they are sent
to douse us afresh
and save us from the drought
and lingering doubt
quench the thirst
that has cursed the harvest
Rain pitcher, life-bestower
you shower my fields
then out burst the crops!



Frenetic all-nite seekers,
you see the fiery orb ascend
the vastness, robustness of Being
is handed unto you,
for you to shape and forge,
the future malleable
Early-morning risers alike
bask in this glow
embroidered with the whipped cream swirls
cotton candy, popcorn
overhead projector
the fanciful see faces
floats, a cloud parade
unveiling earth's silent personalities
like houses for souls departed
these petrified countenances
the more and deeper you peer
the more real you realize them
staring into John Henry's eyes
his thundercloud hammer!
there forms a chariot
lifting above the deceitful gaze
of Judas Iscariot
carrying the laureate
amid angelic escorts
this Cloud Factory only revealed to few
like a Hogwarts of sorts

Skyward, the handdrawn
stickfigure Lennon sits in his
rockingchair on his paradisiacal
heavenly cloud, imagining forever

Don't forget that heaven is in the clouds
this phalanx goes to work
in the same manner as
the Constructors of the Great Sphinx
with utmost mysteriousness
and craftmanship
long excruciating hours
deflecting the dull routine
to provide us all w/ a sheen

Wisps of cirrus,
pillars of light, sundogs,
Haloes, stratus
They keep pumping it out
A solace of sight
from my narrow classroom window
where the robots are trying
to program me

We'll escape first with our minds
the rest and reality will follow
if the system doesn't work it will crumble
I've been putting in long hours
at the factory of clouds
if you hang out somewhere long
enough they always put you to work
afterhours I'm still there
I'll always be there in a sense
assisting the escorts of vision to holy lifts