a year ago, in bangalore

i cycle past cows munching on rotting marigold garlands

in the garbage dump

it is time taken off to paint though not a single thing is made

apparently i am in a slump

it rains and the streetlights all become shower-heads

where the termites come to die

i see an owlet on the wires and write a poem about it

i’m told it made someone cry

i wake up thinking i’m in your bed, posters of pearl jam in my head

and somehow, quang duc, the vietnamese monk

you invite me to the party and i make a fool of myself

it seems i got really drunk