Distinctive normality

In this moment in time I wish to be
above the clouds,
barefoot and cold,
but not nearly as cold as if
I stayed down here, cemented to the concrete sidewalks,
next to machanical men who daily fog up the windows
of their eight a.m buses
whose drivers are all trailing their thirty fifth years on the job.
The melancholy ambiance shoves me up here
where my head is drifting,
beautifully light and easy.
I would much rather be a dusty gray feather
floating above the still life city streets
than a pure block of lead
yearning to drift like me
into my unmistakingly abstract
universe.