When the maws of the trap 
spring up around you 
limbs pull in closer, tighter 
around your chest, guarding, suffocating 
mute hopelessness in a ball 
stricken into shaky breaths 
vacillating between, a quick death or 
black rage, knuckles bloodied on the irons 
All in a split, stiff—
                          
       
                          ...Move
                               Move...


                                    inch one toe forward, one foot forth 
                                        and a path will meet at your heel 


—jaws snap shut— not a flinch 
on your steady gaze in and ahead.