A heated room,
sixteen seats beneath the phosphorous shell,
sixteen minds, exactly the same and yet unique.

Between bites of lobster
and the first entree,
one ***** discusses politics,
while the business has chains and crops
on his mind.

The religious fanatics
can't get his hand out of his pants,
and the proud pagan
pays him to keep them there.

We all have an inkling towards one--
our secret,
divulging desire--
what ailment do you prefer?

I am a sloth,
lounging upon the thick and heavy branch
of a sole, lonely tree.

But where my friends
nibble on their vegetarian diet,
shielded from the harshly perky sun,

this tree buds no leaves
to fall and die, coloring autumn,
or to blossom flowers, fruit of spring,

and instead of relaxing
in a canopy of paradise,
a hovel of food galore,

I'm stuck here wilting
beneath the fiery sun,
starving.

The emerald banquet
is just in sight,
probably only fifteen feet away.

My arms
are strong enough to swing
from this branch to the next,

And my legs are just as swift
as those **** koalas
everyone loves so much.

With a little determination
and patience,
I'm sure I could get there.

And yet I'm rather fond of this tree..
Who am I kidding?
I'm really too lazy to care.