this is a poem I wrote in 2018 while at NYU. In the middle of Finals Week, I recall spontaneously writing the first half by the wonderful grand piano just outside of Tandon's library.
It's Spring now and downtown students study one last week,
Like having had too much caffeine, we weave unseen through everyday work routines,
bumping into plain J train commuters glancing up from their screens with only their eyes,
into disinterested endowment AC libraries half in a dream.
The sound of doors opening and closing never ends,
hearing a happy bird only for a moment.
Textbook rental policies predicated on the premise to offend
and make me broke.
Can't remember when I awoke today, at noon there is still a bit of last night's derivation in
my half-bloomed eyes.
Forced to focus while lovely Lower East Siders ride their bikes or talk about their Friday nights
or fights with spouses,
third-graders run up to their brownstone houses,
remember how school used to slope into Summer? now we only stumble out of Spring.
I've worn the same sweater four days in a row,
each morning thinking I look better than the day before.
Finals in Spring means Thermodynamics indoors,
with a view,
until night covers you or you become unglued.
There is nothing romantic in staying awake past two,
except....
finally the quiet to step outside and feel the air.