In a a plastic container
dizziness sealed in a membrane,
invites curious fingertips
to a mayhem of stickiness.
The white snot of a substance
spreads itself thoroughly
across walls, across pages,
across infinite distances
that stand bridgeless and naked.
Despite your highs and my lows,
you patch things indiscriminately
and for this, I do love you,
dear clotted glue.
Disregarding resistance ,
you make everything stick
at the tip of my fingertips
with such eager convenience,
with such organized disorder.
A reassuring banality
to have you tingling my nostrils
with smokey long fingers
peddling for attention.
What is it you’re selling me,
my white sticky friend?
