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Butterfly Boy
by David HillI 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
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!
IÂ’m all erratic impulse,
Flittering rust powder wings
lift light 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,
IÂ’m pure sensation!
man, butterfly
dreamer, dream
which one is me?
02/16/2005 Author's Note: I am Zen cliché.
Posted on 02/17/2005
Copyright © 2024 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ann Krischus on 02/20/05 at 08:19 PM i love every poem i read that you have written. you are so talented. i feel blessed and inspired to be someone who gets to read your work. |
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