Prologue
Tonight the colors rehearse without conductor.
Each hue hums its own rebellion.
The air smells of melted syntax and wet applause.

Body I
New law: repetition becomes identity.
Every face copies itself one beat late,
until the fifth remembers the first and forgets its name.
Voices rise like stairs,
made of ink, sweat, and fluorescent remorse.
The yellow one sings future tense,
the cyan one weeps in parentheses.
Time dances sideways.

Body II
Pig appears with a baton of mud:
“Oink forte, my chromatic citizens!”
But the barlines dissolve,
and the choir swallows the baton in laughter.

Dada Break
Plink—plink—rainbows sneeze.
Oinkturno.
Halbzeit im Himmel.

Closing
When silence arrives,
it wears every color.
The audience stands, vertical and infinite.