it's one of those nights

where i want to stay up and up

so that i can write and read

and think and remember

to forget.

trying to savor every last bite of

brooklyn

of the east coast and its seasons.

its history. its paint and parks.

it's one of those nights where in my head,

even as my eyelids begin to get

heavy,

i'm fighting for kind sleep

these days

these days
after the summer has turned itself into fall
and the wind bites, even alongside the sun,
i take day sleep with the window wide open.
it does well to warm my skin and bone marrow
under blankets thickened with feathers,
when i’ve not done well with forgetting.

and these days
i walk with my hands deep inside my pockets
seeking the touch of the lining
as if they were the goosebumps
last week’s skin.

the temperature is dropping,
the sky darkens much earlier than before.
but if i wrap that hand-knitted scarf
around my neck, over and over
and over again as it was intended,
it and all of it will keep me from getting too cold.

thanksgiving

is a wonderful holiday because you can eat wonderful food
like wonderful turkey and wonderful biscuits and wonderful
pumpkin pie and wonderful sweet potatoes and wonderful
ravioli and wonderful smashed potatoes and wonderful stuffing
with wonderful people in a wonderful house in wonderful
pennsylvania.

thanksgiving is wonderful.

dear roommate,

quit with all your bitchin'

sincerely,

dear belly,

all i wanna do is treat you right
but i can't help but feed you things
that ain't good for you.
i know spicy cilantro fries turn you on,
but they'll hurt you in the end.

12th and 13th

fuck ny trains on the weekends
fuck train conductors
fuck the guggenheim doorman
fuck mixing wine and whiskey
fuck letting you share my bed






it'll be okay.

nostalgia

it’s one of those days
when i feel defeated
by yesterdays that can’t seem to stay buried
beneath memory and literature.

i tried to empty those words,
pour them down city drains
to flow in subterranean depths
but still, they rise with the tide.

so where do all the broken people go,
where do the promises
of those sweet summer hours
take long, restful sleep?

where does the end begin to end?
i’ve torn apart the alphabet,
dirtied my fingernails
trying to find some ancient relief.

still,
bubbles keep blowing and bursting
in the crisp, city air.
autumn is the season of decay after all.

yes

“I wonder why I don’t go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip one hour more of sleep and live.”
— Sylvia Plath

everything i wish i could say

Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell you I need you
And tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions
Oh let's go back to the start
Running in circles, coming in tails
Heads on a science apart

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start

I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
And tell me you love me, come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing tails
Coming back as we are

Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I'm going back to the start

"the scientist"

hindi zahra sings to my soul.