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  • "Like sucking straw through a rabbit hutch."
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  • Support a Deserving Artist - Why not buy a T-shirt?


    For those of you who don't know, I am also a designer by trade. I have a number of T-shirt designs for sale through Cafe Press. These are largely pertaining to the Martial Arts or Fitness.


    It would mean the world to me if you would be so kind as to click on the image above to visit my humble shop and take a look. (This link will open in a new window).

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  • Awake at 3 AM


    Awake at 3 AM and the clock
    flashes the time to my conscience.
    Toss and turn on the uneven bed
    fix the covers, sheets and pillows
    listen to the grinding of your neck
    in blue midnite impatience
    there is no grace in insomnia
    only deadpan fatigue, a soul
    leaking slowly from the corners of your eyes
    I bounce my leg, for lack of a tail,
    think happy thoughts, deepen
    my breathing, pray for peace of mind,
    for once, for a good night’s sleep
    and find that this doesn’t work either.
    The dog barking and that asshole
    slams his car door again,
    the furnace kicks in fits and blows air in,
    the ticking clock is a pounding drum and
    my neck is sore from the pillows.
    I bury my thoughts in a basket of
    dirty laundry, the room is a mess
    and my life is no better
    the light in the other room is still on
    and the tape in my mind replays over and
    over
    and the time ticks by again at 3:30 AM.
    I’m waiting for the music to begin
    for the song sung by valkyrin and
    choirs of angels, a heavenly lullaby
    a kiss on the eyelids and softly tucked in.

    © 2008 Anthony Sell
     

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  • Labor Sons


    And I dream
    in those quiet times
    of friends past
    and faces lost
    words spoken, or not,
    of clasping hands
    and weary eyes.

    I dream of lovely agonies
    and careless minutes
    strewn, about
    grinning stupidly
    at the humdrum
    of daily shuffle
    and passing time.

    Labor sons, we trusted
    the clock, plodding
    and plotting to overcome it,
    the week, the day
    the hour, the damned
    Banker’s hour
    and the shallow dollar.
    The Butcher’s week.

    Pockets pleading and
    shoulders tight, the way
    was to not-think
    to think of anything
    somewhere else
    and bide, silently bide
    we chewed our tasteless
    food with the same
    mechanical efficiency.

    © 2.14.08 Anthony Sell

  • And I love you with your crooked teeth.


    Your hand touches mine
    we turn to face each other
    on the pillow
    looking down
    your eyes dance darkly
    through your lazy bangs
    watching my hands
    our fingers entwine
    and the corners of your mouth
    turn upward just slightly
    I touch your hair
    black as kitten fur, and as soft
    the room, cast vermillion,
    gold and apple green
    dappled in sunlight,
    my heart is a violet sponge
    we kiss lightly and breathlessly
    enter the same dream.

    © 2.26.08 Anthony Sell

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