Words feel like art to me. Museums manifest portraits of phrases distinctive in content and style. Landscapes listen as locutions rain down from sky and grow up from fields of harvested wheat. Installations involve consonants sprinting to vault vowels while scattering crumbs of words and letters across the ground. Sculpture Parks parade bronze parodies of unique stature across green lawns in living color. Wouldn't it be fun to roll in a gigantic iambic pentameter? How about working out on slides of S and C and the forever O? Or, hike to the peak of capital A to catch a Technicolor rendering of a new commentary for old readers seated on multi-colored zafus. How to reach level ground after the peak of A? Bungee jump to join the contact sport of phonics. Or, if not up to snuff, sit with the Yellow Birds on their low risers of great expectation. Enjoy the alphabet's 26 paratrooper patrol positioning into paraphrase of limitless number in the sky at sunset. Stars rise. Quiet up front! Hush. Poets are reading their poems in the middle of the street. Listen. Close your eyes. Words feel like art to me.
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