Kettle Steam

A poem about a fragile reality

Published in

Storymaker

Mar 4, 2021

I don’t know where I go when I write.
Perhaps love,
Perhaps hate,
Or stream of consciousness might,

Catch hold of me.
Take me down.
No sense in knowing,
Not sure that I can.

Unfolding before me,
I’m reaching for words.
Like a dream,
Disappeared in the air like kettle steam.

Cup o’ tea?
Sure, what else can I do.
Little pleasures in the absence of more,
Or illusion to

Ease without chores.
Grasping,
Fighting for life.
Establishing permanence, what a wasteful fight

Whitehead;
He enters my mind on the edge of what seems,
Not concrete,
Only kettle steam

Many thanks for taking the time to read my material. Visit me here on Medium at The Reflectionist where I write daily. — Larry