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October 12, 2001 benevolence of sloth "There's a hole in Daddy's arm where all the money goes...." The blades of the ceiling fan turn slowly through the thick, dull sunlight filling the covered porch.  I squint and imagine a propeller swirling in a butterscotch sea.  John Prine reminds me of years lost.  I glance at the floor littered with leaves from an ever-shedding Ficus and I consider for a moment committing murder against it.  An aborticide of sorts.  But murder requires effort so I turn my thumb up.  The timid tree is spared through the benevolence of sloth..

©  2001 by the beastmaster