Dephoned

Dephoned

Let us all be dephoned.
Let the grid be snatched out
from underneath us quickly,
a tablecloth plucked out
from still and perfect place settings.

Let us all be dephoned.
Perhaps language will leave.
Mouths can clap like hands,
and speech knocks out in
wood-block pops, applause.

Let us all be dephoned.
We forget what the phone is,
the plastic box that holds nothing,
heats the ear, that chirps
or trills inside of garments.

Let us all be dephoned.
Let it happen. Let silence settle
over the land like dusk, all of us
at once not talking, but not
deafened. Dephoned.