by Nick Gisburne
The portal opens. Slipping through the break,
The next dimension down is where I sit.
A creature not unlike a spongy snake
Surrounds my face, and hugs the heat of it.
A thousand others, freaks of every form,
Are dulled and lulled by laziness. They sleep.
A limp, lethargic universe, the norm,
Relaxed, unrushed, runs infinitely deep.
I wonder how, so sluggish, they survive,
Without the work, the soul-destroying toil,
And every need we bleed to stay alive,
While they relax, content to curl and coil.
Whatever motivation skills they lack,
I’m staying, and I’m never going back.
