Prologue:
Gather gently.
I am mostly arrangement—
a composition of snouts,
a floral accident in graphite.
No roses today, only relatives.

Botanical DADA

Each pig blooms in its own confusion.
Petals shaped like ears,
stems disguised as laughter.
We call it Schweinestrauß,
because taxonomy gave up at the first oink.
Ich bin Schwein und Pflanze zugleich,
ein Duft von Chaos mit landwirtschaftlicher Herkunft.

Field Notes of an Impossible Florist

Observe how they overlap:
curiosity over fatigue,
nostalgia beside nonsense.
The bouquet hums softly—
a choir of semi-domesticated existentialists.
There is order here,
but it only pretends to behave.

A Dialogue Between Petal and Snout

Snout: I think, therefore I bloom.
Leaf: You wilt beautifully, my friend.
Stem: Everything vertical is temporary.
Together they sigh in cross-hatched harmony,
as if Dürer had drawn a dream about friendship.

Final Oink for the Bouquet

This is not still life.
This is almost alive.
A tender chaos tied together with string and faith.
DADA nods, smelling faintly of graphite and farm.
The bouquet blushes—
and somewhere, a bee writes a sonnet
it will never read aloud.