belly heavy clouds, the
day darkens
the sky is blanketed over
and its lids, like the clouds
so gentle in tucking it under,
grow heavier
put to rest – at least for
a drowsy while, too short
and capricious – are the worries
of the idle infant
words blurring into recognitions
of fonts ubiquitous; formal
desirous and greedy fonts,
the authors of which now
also grow tired
lighted and buzzing however
are streets where footfall
is ironically heaviest. Yes,
many may still retire to
the safety of a curtained window
but it is from this vantage
that one sleepier soul might
hear hollers from inebriates
who don’t tend to worry about
the weight of clouds
it is not of their concern if the
weight of their heads on their
hands grow heavier as the clouds
grow lighter
they too are a font, a trope
perhaps, as ubiquitous as
the rising of the sun.