sunday

my limbs do not lift
my senses fail
my head sits in a cloud,
eyelids sunk

the day is slow-going agony,
no amount of caffeine propels me

the stillness of my body belies the movement of this world
my mind stirs in irritation
frustration with the dumbness of aching hands
that do not do
bloated numb fingers
all thumbs
thick logs attempting needlework

the shudder in me
is a shifting tension,
rising to meet my surfaces,
with no explosion,
no sudden sound,
just a gurgling,
and a growl
announcing this affliction,
this paralysis,
as reasoning enough to leave me be.