Milkshake flumes
distract the world
into something sweet
to be consumed with ease;
warmed a bit,
those streams turn to glue
ruining the upholstery,
the carpet, the sheets

Street signs blur;
the stop sign blurs;
asphalt melts into white
rivers of goo, pitching
and tossing the dinghy
from side to side

Out of control
it slips down a hill,
stuck there like an old
bottle or another shard
of plastic in the ocean