Three figures,
one sentence split into color.
They orbit an invisible idea,
each syllable wearing a different hue.

Cyan hums logic,
red answers with weather,
yellow forgets and forgives in the same motion.

Lines stutter—
black thinks it’s in control,
but turquoise keeps rewriting the edges.

Hypothesis: conversation is choreography.
Counter-hypothesis: we dance to stay unreadable.

DADA steps between them,
whispers omns, the sacred nonsense,
and the air folds open like an afterthought.

For one second,
the colors understand each other—
and immediately deny it.