All laundry bleeds together

You drink from a bottle that was a traffic cone that is a balloon that was a bottle

that is a traffic cone that was a balloon that is a bottle that was a traffic cone

It flickers and morphs as what it means to see morphs and flickers beyond magic

eye poster sonar-antenna starlink whale touchscreen-hologram

The sweetness of the syrup at the corner of your lips holds dirt and shit and dead

squirrels and crunchy titter of pollinators and is still perfect for waffles

You take another sip from traffic cone balloon to wash away dirt squirrel;

the residue left behind is ripe with blueprints for a soul that both is and is not

yours

Whatever you use to cleanse 
will also pollute until all that is left is smoke

Quartz Page Klapp is a teacher, writer, roadtripper, and collector of stone frogs. They write gathering places for prose and poetry, laughter and terror, and truth and hope. She holds an MFA from the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics at Naropa University, where she serves as a faculty member. She lives in Lafayette, Colorado with her wife and their tuxedo cat.