of twos and threes

I'm the messenger, now
carting jars of cookies
between Edward and Emerald
answering texts on phones that don't yet exist
looking for signs of inwardness --
the "unusual" that is usual in their bodies, two, one

I've got foot gawking in mouth
from all the walking
and talking, this no longer
churns out words
they are stuck below my clavicle
that's caved in and
pressed down
onto crutches (more or less)
for eight months, that's lain on
side and stomach
far too often
that's sat and driven
more than it's stood, run...

that can barely save its breath for some intimacy

so, we make a show about it
and then the show eats all my face into it's
administrative screen

out comes the notebook with the cookie jar
out comes the novel
out comes the mouth, open
out comes Deutsch
out comes friend
out comes tea pot
out comes yoga
out comes overnight trip away
out comes lover
out comes the marijuana
out comes the habits, old and yet-to-be-formed
out comes the prescription, the Tramadollusion
out comes the winter blanket
out comes the bus card
out comes the city, weaving myself back in
out comes the Creative Career, or beginnings of
out comes the notebook, the pen, the page, the laptop, the headspace
but all that comes out,
out, are crumbs.