Butterfly Boy

I hunch my shoulders,
a mist-mouth city boy opposing October rain,
trickles down the trench coat, catches in my cuff,
boots mash color-bled worms.
Pigeon waddle man crowds the walkway
and when we brush, his face twists a silent curse.
I duck in the café for double espresso,
Bukowski bleak in my pocket.
I make the most of atmosphere
understand setting and scene,
dreary revelry.

Shocking pink jellyfish smile and wave,
suspend in green limpid sea, so clean!
I’m all erratic impulse
flittering rust powder wings,
lift lightly from seasoned planks,
flutter slow and jerky down
to a shadow image on sand.
Uncoiled proboscis sipping sweetness
in pink-spot petals of horsemint.
Free from self,
I’m pure sensation!

man, butterfly
dreamer, dream
which one is me?