Prologue
The paper tilts toward heaven.
A breath of ochre, a whisper of graphite.
The snout points where language forgets itself.

Body I
New law: aspiration has a texture —
soft as dust, stubborn as hope.
Each wrinkle becomes a galaxy,
each line a vector through the impossible.
Pig stares past gravity’s etiquette,
snout aligned with the horizon of absurd grace.
The Latin burns slowly,
a quiet engine beneath the ribs.

Body II
Pig muses: “Stars are just patient mud.”
The cosmos blushes, unsure whether to agree.
Silence translates the motto backwards:
Ad aspera per astra — the thorns travel too.

Dada Break
Oinkstronomica!
Snoutonaut!
Squealipsis—∞—∞—∞!

Closing
The laws dissolve.
Only lift remains —
and a faint oink among the constellations.