by Alan Thomas
you are sleeping. a lucid dream swirls inside your head as you lie in a fresh puddle of your own sweat. behind eyelids sewn shut, your eyes skip in spasms back and forth furiously. you are weighted with a heaviness as you move towards the ocean; your thoughts are jaggedly anxious and tormenting, stabbing holes in your fragile mind. you approach the sanctuary of the grey-green water. feeling a momentary sense of refuge, you stop at the boundary between land and sea.
Alan Thomas aspires to humanness, and writes because the voice of the immeasurable beauty of life does not speak English.