The glass is smooth but smudged,
the automatic click of yes or no
inside my mind, the tick
goes off, nothing I think,
but fingers glide
across the screen
regardless of what
anybody really means
or wants.

There is no whole to be a part of,
nor are we one whole on our own,
no spectrum showing measures
of ourselves exists
that accurately lists
our follies and the ways they came to be,
the things we did and sought,
how we succeeded, failed and fought
through times of pressure
soldered to our heels.

The yes or no, swipe left or right,
is surface to the person
in your palm you hold.
It's valuable insight
we seek to know,
not murky glass between
two pools of depths unknown.

I.
I turned the kettle on
by pressing a little button
on its metallic side
slightly downward.
The light went on,
a cold blue hue,
warming the water,
while I sat
while I looked out the window.
It wasn't raining
but I wished it was.
An idle hand took the kettle
and poured boiling water over my head.
It spilled on carpeted floors.
They were ****** but
hot water doesn't ruin carpet.
****.
It rained.

II.
I turned the kettle on
by pressing the contoured button
slightly downward.
I stared into the see-through opening
to watch it boil.
It didn't
because the power was out.
I should have known
because the refrigerator
smelled of dead fish.

III.
I turned the kettle on
by pressing the little button
slightly downward.
The light went on
so I knew it was working
and sat down to look out the window.
It was raining.
I wished to smell it
so I opened the window.
It smelled of rain.
I was not surprised.
The bubbling sound
was made by boiling water.
I was not surprised.
The ceylon tea
smelled of earth.
It was refreshing.
Vapor danced over the surface
of the hot water,
over the wet herbs infused in it.
I danced holding the cup.
The vapor danced with me.
I put the hot tea to my lips.
It warmed me while
I cooled it.
It spilled on the carpet
But I did not care,
for I had more water
and it was ****** carpet anyway.