Conundrum

I’m paralyzed, moving just enough to convince everyone I’ve got
complete mobility. What an act. But bit by bit, I let drop both the things
that matter and those that don’t. Functioning ceases to have an attraction
when I find myself so utterly absorbed in the activity of wondering
that prescient thought becomes a mystery beyond my grasp.
How I can give myself over completely and then not at all, remains a
puzzle, a conundrum. The solving of it is pleasant at times, onerous at others. The contraction of my pumping muscle-that heart which seems to betray, allay-provides constant proof of confusion of illusion that my mind seems to craft.