Prelude:
Leaning on the edge of existence,
I am mostly posture pretending to be wisdom.
The wood beneath my hooves hums softly:
think, but not too hard.

I. The Philosophy of Leaning

Rest is not surrender.
It’s resistance in pink and graphite.
Every wrinkle in my face
is a footnote to a theory of patience.
Ich bin Schwein und Schwelle,
ein Tier im Übergang zwischen Neugier und Müdigkeit.

II. Pigment and Poise

Black defines me; magenta redeems me.
Together they argue across my snout.
The left ear listens, the right one pretends not to care.
Even shadows have opinions here.
Each stroke says: Yes, but gently.

III. Dialogue of the Fence

Fence: You seem deep today.
Pig: Only from this angle.
Fence: You look like you’re waiting for meaning.
Pig: No, just breakfast.
DADA, invisible nearby, applauds the misunderstanding.

IV. The Quiet Heroism of Oink

To lean is to believe
the world will not tip over.
To look is to forgive it anyway.
Art calls this composition.
I call it Tuesday.
Still life? Not quite—
still thinking, still here.