planes to tell the stars goodmorning on
its 6 45 the dawns heat is rising
streets are as empty as i have seen them
the grey green splintered side walk , waiting on the knocking
new york city shoes for it to arise
my footsteps are only a stir stillness, the sidewalks are still sleeping
patsy pansey eggshell sky is painted inbetween pastell rock pounded buildings, they think they are so cool.
tall enough to sntatch the space from the sky
the line is rapping its self onto the other side of the building meandering down the slats of old dry pavement
2 squares down the sleeping sidewalks
Im waiting in, i mean on line next to girls with thick accents
my no shoe wearin, dirt in the hair northern california grass roots soul wants to ask,
who wears sunglasses at 7 am?
italians.
i have not been granted yachts on which to play with the ocean in
planes to tell the stars goodmorning on
across the street from the fruit stand
rusty mustard brick stacks upon itself like bunkbeds
painted on them are windows, you cant see out of them
but if i got up there, to my 5th story soho building sides, speckled with sparrow shit, salty crackers and other rising remnence from top of building next door
i wonder if i could see into them, those painted on windows on that ancient dry brick building down there in soho on prince street.
man next to me wants to be a doctor
his medicine books have infultrated my novella with skelitons for examination, the tibia is here, the fibia is here
i dont even know what a spleen is.
A man approaches, sweaty, a 7 am work out type, shirt so bright blue, it fell out the sky.
he asks. You guys got the tickets yet?
tickets. this is no concert, poetry reading, theatre piece im waiting in line for.
this is iphone business. of course i dont have a ticket. if you could have a ticket i wouldnt be waiting in LINE!
future doctor man just says no.
see. privilege
ain't granted me yachts to play with the ocean on
or planes to say goodmorning to the stars
but its granted me
7 am soho iphone line
and a lot of anticipation out which color gel in-case to purchase after i got my sick new iphone.
a man with tickets comes around. i get one. i feel cool and like im going to get a concert, poetry reading, theatre piece, with my iphone
just beyond italys finest ladies is a man, tall like he could basketball with the sky scrapers
sharpie cap in mouth, drawing. all the glass panel store fronts in purple yellow ruby green sharpie with straight lines down the page
ahhhhaaaaa
artist spotted, soho, 7 22 am, so hipster he carries his sharpie sketch pad around with him when he travels the sleeping sidewalks just to
draw dawn before her daily dose of street traffic
the sharpie cap is going to get caught in his mustache.
but the swift sound of his straight lines is forming the subtext for the rhythm of the wrap
shhsht shhst shhst flip the page,
new building.
A mobster fruit stand security gaurd shouts something at the
crock wearing genius bar regular like, first 10 go in!
Hell yes, im hungry for an apple, and screw a worm i want an iphone inside.
thank god for my privilege as i round the steps and enter the store
no yachts to play with the ocean on
no planes to say good morning to the stars with
but i got in the fruit stand at 8 15 in soho, to get me an iphone.
pablo,
pablo was a good blue shirt wearing, genus bar knowing, sweaty even though its morning salesman
pablo snatched up my privilege, gave me a rotten apple.
he said, "your young, and need to pay 500 extra dollars because you have no credit"
my privilege does not cover that
i left the fruit stand, saddened by the silliest trick my privilege had played on me.
and with no iphone in hand, returned to the sidewalk, awake now
and off to work.
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