Christopher Fields
The world turns too slowly
a great roiling lump of rock
in my throat
/ that one bite too large /
/ vision’s aperture /
/ narrowing /
the magician’s cloak
fluttering down over the birdcage
lights out for the canary.
I’m talking about the moment before
the cartoon Acme anvil hits, knowing the pit
will open up, sinking me with just
my pounding head above it
borders
at
my
throat
the whole
world pressing in
all this and more
in my daily breakfast roulette
***
Christopher Fields is a physical therapist who edits Neologism Poetry Journal from western Massachusetts. His writing may be found in Three Line Poetry, We Were So Small, The Fenland Reed, and The Offbeat.