Someone dropped a brutalist tower
and it slid into the color spectrum.

Corridors stretch like chewing gum,
yellow arguing with blue about gravity.

In the middle, a pink room curls up,
a shy square pretending to be a snail.

Streets become ribbons,
ceilings become rivers,
nothing remembers which side is up.

This is what happens
when an architect sneezes during a drawing:

the city turns diagonal,
time runs sideways,

and you discover
that the shortest way home
is a spiral that doesn’t end.