181.

in a moment you find yourself suspended
in time like fossilized amber, hanging in paralysis between
staying in bed or facing the daylight
and you know there will be joker smiles waiting outside
your door to ask how you feel and what your name is,
but your throat has run sandpaper dry already

you are blank and space bar blinking, waiting
to stop shaking and put your icy feet on the linoleum
curled back into yourself like a dying plant, and you are
beginning to suspect that today
will not be one of your Good Days
you suspect that your loved ones might have to call the doctors again
that your fists might harden to concrete and your brain
might turn back into a bell jar full of frantic and frightened wasps

sour yellow light is seeping through your drawn curtains
and you are wrapped in scratched blankets, waiting
years for the moment when you are brave
or stupid enough to go outside