in theory

shifting sands hold no heat, or memory
and despair is for special occasions
light is wonderfully transparent
and unsullied with shades of emotion
flipped torch like into the past
to brush light the future
in a continuous moving blaze
and little burns, large black holes
are figments of the imagination
synaptic lapses, easily recovered
with time, love and laughter 

blending

the morbid fancies
of fates least favorite child
and the increasingly annoying demands
of the mortal shell
with olive oil and ginger
hacking away at frozen spinach
music trailing into different lands
with sandalwood and camphor
remembering raviraj lending library
where most of my childhood riches
were spent and received
remembering how important
it is to forget