Setting words free from their meanings:
voices are warm stretched air textures,
text a tedium of loop lines repositioned.
Like a city where, for a day
everyone spoke and wrote
they all just woke up that way
as if nothing had changed.
In the city by late morning
the president is drawing,
without the words of their party,
party lines are line drawings,
with the debate come undone they’re stuck getting stuff done.
By mid afternoon all the lost meaning
that had spilled from all the empty words in the city,
and rinsed the fun out of freedom-
was being replenished,
in scats replied to with scribbles
in faces meeting with motions.
Until someone, overcome
with triumphant realizations