After Settling Down to Work
You know the drooping. Drowsiness and lolls
Take over and you find yourself asleep
Or nearly there, a cousin of rag dolls
On opium. A heavy-lidded sweep
Of wooziness begins to take you down
To forty fathom depths. You do not want
It. You resist being bewitched to drown
In this delicious comfort and its taunt
That it will win. It does. You slump in slow,
Slow motion, conscious and unconscious both
At once. You realize and yet don’t know
That you are being turned into a sloth
..Which dangles by pale claws from twilight vines—
….Transformed despite weak will power’s designs.