my privilege; in letter S

i have not been granted yachts on which to play with the ocean in

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. 

today

cloudy eyed breaths are swimming in lungs tainted with soot from california's fireplace

all the while the sun was perfect in the 9 13 dawn

though the trees around the corner all the store fronts glistening

there was a ripeness in her thoughts

an anti-contempt for unicorns pirates or mermaids of the youth

for once. she let the music engrave itself onto the wrinkles in

her eyelids.

gargoyles

pa-lease dont forget me on all of your adventures

and when the statues frown at the sight of a without me yes

smile and say
she is write here, all the time.
frowning at my loneliness
saying, you, my dear, should haven chosen differently.

metaphors, similes deux

you are a rough wave
that must have crashed upon the wrong constellation
but oh. this bright skin
still shines, even through longing for
twitter-pated fingertips blending into one.

cabinets

beneath first layers of tres leches are strawberries
smiling awaiting the engulfing nature of your teeth
and

i smell somewhere hovering the scent of polished wood after rain, in the summer time
right above where we used to sit
dreaming of deserts movie sets and togetherness melded along with our sloppy kisses from behind
the silver screen moldings in the carpet.

complementary are the rhythms the bed makes now
without you in it
so please
if you stumble upon a story, that includes laughter or
cheese
tell me.

and if your swirling around in that brain of yours, like we used to do, dont be afraid of what you find, just like
tall grass hiding under the short rainstorms of fall, of course, you dont remember the color
of the leaves, but
the couch table rug and my heart
still smell of your body
odors, which linger in the air as though ashes are waiting to envelop them

and your text message sound, still haunts me with the memory
of

empty couch sitting spots which ca-do-o-le
beneath my underpinnnings.

metaphors.similes. one

paris is like a piece of candy
when you first chew on it
you love it
its taste its smell, even the way it feels in your life
but after your done your
teeth hurt and
you kinda feel sick to your stomach
but you still want more.

dawn

b4 i open shutters
2 the spoken unknown
i pretend the darkness
is your lid,
covering me.