street lady

a purple buttterfly rests on my shoulder as i lean over the railing. a distorted reflection stares back. i shrug, wrap my body in a blanket and walk the streets of new york city. today maybe i'll ride the carousal, or eat cotton candy and laugh at the children who don't get any. or maybe i'll give them mine. maybe i'll climb a birch tree and swing low sweet chariot near the faces of all the strangers who never look up. i reach the park and see roger, my friend in rags who eats from my garbage can. i don't mind there's enough for the both of us. suddenly the clouds are cotton candy and i'm flat on the ground staring into my destiny. and i laugh. my spirit rises like the purple butterfly while the people pass me by.