Breakfast Table

None

and there it was.
Dropping every ounce of me
into glassy gesture,
liquid in the mainframe,
filaments blown out,
reality sunken in.
When does one learn to clean it up,
delineate the messes?

So unaware of the feeling fingers,
the privacy of unscrambled neuronal push.
The electronic fuzz from the square screen reached across
the shared space,
humming, taking notice,
knowing the emptiness, the
centrality;
dividing the couched living arrangements
from the kitchen table,
electronic devices went entirely static.

Tuned back in –
grasped for a solution.
Paper towels like bandages,
sucking up the over-pour.
Catered wrists can’t handle
these motions, nothing without
generating swells from the neck.
Breakfast was serving me. 
My first epiphanic gesture
was born from misbehavior
in this body, without case
in cause.

and there it was.
and there it began.

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