A Brief Repose

I tip back my head.
The tears roll up my cheeks.
This point of view,
my nose-tip arcing
from glaring screen to blank ceiling,
signals a change, I’m sure,
in time and space.

The tears are being sucked back into my eyes
and in this dimension disappear.
They are quenching the thirst
of that convulsing entity which
Coils
back down my pre-chocked throat.
It waits
It bides
It roils
but it hides.
In this brief slip of time it is disarmed,
claws poised towards my larynx.