Foam-flecked tendrils of salt-water-thoughts Eagerly fingering the sands of the dream-like shores. Grasping the bright silica flashes of intuition And pulling them into the pulsing deeps
My friend writes of drink And the flotsam and dregs That prop the bar. Of the Salt with the wink And a Gin in the legs And tales of near and far Of trophies and silver and dust
Alone in the tear-bitter darkness Heart-rent by dawning awareness Fantasy fields of constructed madness Now made stone-strewn Mocking deserts Of shifting sands
He cried out "I thirst..." ...and they gave him vinegar to drink. Bitter gall sweetness turned to acid in the throat I thirst... ...for love's sweet fruit