Clouds are a poetic symbol, muses the parrot

They stand for standing for just about anything

They are like the concept of number which itself is no number

A poem upon the writing block

Music without the music

Theirs is an absolute loneliness

Yes, let us consider the loneliness of clouds

Wafting over the frothing, bestial sea

What are you dreaming of, clouds

Never mind, you have no mind and therefore cannot dream

Excuse our pathetic fallacy

Clouds we wished to be mute like you

There’s so much error in language

Everything we say turns out not right

Or almost right; that is, to be precise, wrong

So we left language, but there was nowhere to go so we came back

We’re in a muddle, what are we to say

How to articulate, for example, our emotions

Cut up and classify their continuum

How to tell anger from grief, pity from love

Who gave us these public, not-our words

We wish to use language to implement intimacy

Clouds we watch you move over us

Like a sea upside down and without the sea

Clouds what do we do with people who are nice to us

How do we pay them

In an honest and appropriate way

Gift ourselves to those who give themselves to us

Goodbye clouds