I move through the day
as through molasses--
sweet, sticky,
and slow.

I am a snail
in the summer
a listless sloth
among strong, sinewy saplings.

I live in a dream world
of subconsciousness.

Naked in public,
I walk uncertainly
into a strange classroom.

I have not studied
for the test.

I find myself
suddenly
in the middle of a road,
the blacktop
hot under my chest.

I pull myself along
at an agonizingly slow pace.

I am unable to crawl away
from the moving train.