For today's poem I'm using yesterday's Kay Ryan prompt - so short and clipped and mysterious... okay then.
Sloth
He curls himself around
the nearest branch already
almost immobile. Minute
mechanics of movement
a feat
of exhausting
contemplation,
unrelenting (but unbothered)
determination.
Coarse as a gruff
rebuttal, the sloth is
an excellent Zen master.
Life in slow-mo,
no-go,
negotiating
space. Monotony
monopolised.
In varying degrees, life
shifts: night terrors,
morning mantras.
But the habits
of stasis
remain.
Evolutionary dogma
and all of that
(permanent pain.)
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