Labouring
The tension of thought
Makes me so uptight
I find myself seizing
In need of lubrication
To loosen up
And get myself in gear
Typing frantically to maintain the speed
Of my mind
As it races from me
And I chase after it to recapture it
Exalted with adrenalin
My head lighting up
As if a pinnacle of an exclamation
Until I’m completely exhausted
Inebriated with creativity
That in the end leaves me bearing a hangover
My stomach pent with knots
My spine curved to a question mark.
Biography: Anthony Ward tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including The Faircloth Review, Drunk Monkeys, Dead Snakes, Turbulence, Underground, Jellyfish Whispers, The Autumn Sound, Torrid Literature Journal and The Rusty Nail, amongst others.
