1. Sloth
Slyest of vices,
You play at being a Greek
god,
Laurel wreathèd,
stern of face.
You drag my spirit across
my morning.
Sulk in the antechamber
of my noon,
Empty my moments of all
charm.
Then, as evening's comes
You show yourself, shamelessly,
A reflection on my clock's
face.
2. Gluttony
O, you crude demon vice,
You possess my soul.
You twist your twisted
self
Into my very flesh.
Cloth you make for me
A hunger for bread.
Wood you make for me
A hunger for rich sauce.
Light you make for me
A yearning for the particular
taste of chocolate
Spreading melting richness
in my mouth.
---James
Bolner, Sr.
Baton Rouge,
February,
2000