There is poetry in forgetfulness
in the
slippery sleep of books closed without the scant scent
nostalgic old paper smell wafting
through the cracks of every dream
through the corners of every waking scene

in faces undreamed
skin responsibly drops the ball in the middle
of the game thinks
outer heart
inner hidden forces hand to release but
can't wade through the mud to outer heart
(this) persistent personality (the)
tangled mommy daddy that
these faces fading oh so perfectly were,
are, will not be as

balls unwind and yarn is caught
in the paws of cats pouncing this
low purr of thought-erasing

"You will never figure it out. You cannot untangle it. Stop thinking! You must throw it in Baba's ocean. Throw it!" ~Eruch Jessawala