dislodging the pink bullet from your heart.
It’s parting anyone, anything, like when you part
Siamese twins in a horrific, beautiful sexual act,
deeply engaged, entangled, like the time
I gave you my neck to wrangle, mangle,
like when you forgot to untangle, that is a lot like loss, you
know, loss makes me want to be with your ex,
and with her ex, and his, and hers, and hers, and his
and six hundred others and hold a candle light vigil,
I want to protest at Town Hall and see a police shootout
see this great big rally teeter on two degrees of separation
and ends in a bloodbath of sweaty groins and hot wax,
skin on skin and sin in bits rolling town stony steps,
so the news of loss plays on a sputtering film reel, mapping
the city’s veins, its minarets and wires and old
buildings and pigeons, in cities big and small
dilapidating at the rate of heartbeat, dhak dhak,
at the back of autos, dhak dhak behind trucks
sound okay please horn please, hum ek humare do, it has
had me ponder the back of vehicles.
and made me guzzle ghazals
and sitcom after sitcom,
no time for lightness,
all the time for lightness.
I hear an ektara.
Loss is a bit like this poem.
