Drink of the water of the sleepless.
The water which within itself tastes dry.
A thirst that cannot be quenched
but by the bourbon of another’s thoughts;
by the whiskey of another’s dreams
Getting drunk on thoughts and dreams
does naught but catch the mind
in nets like spiders webs.
Made of the lines
that once formed letters,
that once formed words,
that once formed thoughts.
Twisted, tangled, messy and chaotic;
the web of strings of letters and words
touches me like one would touch a lover.
A soft caress – a gentle kiss.
And the senselessness of twisted words
becomes clear within the passionate embrace.
In chaos there is order;
In madness there is sanity.
And drinking of another’s thoughts –
tasting of another’s dreams –
Is getting drunk from an arid well.
©2015 Alex Hicks