Death Of A Sloth

Poem By Reginald Goodridge

rolling over with equisit form
yawning, gnawing, covered with warm
sentiments, nothing is complex
but all, very simple in context

snails pace, bumped and bruised
scents of decay smeared with muse
laughter, trigger pulled, covers gone
innards quiver, chilly fear of dawn

placed below, just between ends
hanging frantic to unwraveled threads
slippage, fallen, diving, dead
ended, reverted, incarnate -red!

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