The eyes are coins of thunder,
spent on the altar of maybe.
Magenta mumbles in cursive,
yellow sighs like late afternoon.

Lines trip over each other—
syntax chasing heartbeat.
The smile escapes custody,
wears irony as perfume.

Hypothesis: faces are jazz instruments.
Counter-hypothesis: jazz invented faces.

Ink remembers rain.
Color forgets shape.
Emotion unbuttons its coat and leaves.

Paper breathes.
DADA whispers:
nothing to fix,
everything already vibrating.