S L O T H

the sloth yawns at time inert, as listless minutes turn wasted hours to years work is left undone avoided like a poison the very thought, repugnant the useless hand rules in sluggish monotony repeated “ad nauseam” hear the weary sighs a disinterest in ideas thinking takes too much effort how dull the moments how easy to lay around drearily, suffocating and so the sloth goes through blank, barren idleness wallowing in stagnancy Written on 10/23/2018