Becoming Sloth

Impossible with the turbine blades
of younger veins, a head twitch
of excitation that flicks the coil
even faster with each pure pulse.
 
Then comes the caffeine of learning,
the singed eye lids of burnt books,
knuckle drags turn into crunching visible abs
when body weight is lifted over our heads.
 
It comes as an elder to our shores in fat bent ripples,
smoking the sensation of being bloated.
While cheek bones lose their edges
we pledge to sweat oceans on gymnasium floors.
 
Then it happens, the younger than you boss,
who's a tosser, crosses some line
that wasn't there in the morning,
your shallowest breath is released in to sleep
 
and something deep inside
connects you to a quiet calm,
a raised palm, that finds you a favorite spot
and says, "just fucking stop."