Dave Bonta's "Plea" is a short, broken-up cry from someone in physical suffering. The speaker is ill, in pain, and running out of patience. The first stanza states the facts almost like a note scribbled in a hurry: all night and all day, great pain. Even the word "impatient" is split across a line break, as if the speaker can't get through it in one breath.
The second stanza turns into the plea itself. "Off me" sounds like a demand to get away, though the poem never says who or what is meant. It could be the pain, a person, or something else. Then the speaker admits that their mouth "dare not speak / my consent." That line is open to more than one reading. It might mean they are too frightened or too weak to say yes, or that saying anything would make things worse.
The mood is raw and tense. Short lines and gaps leave the reader with the sense of someone barely holding on.