This pigture is the holy mess of time itself—
color riot, snout theology,
halo of accidental genius.

It oinks in all languages at once:
cyan for memory,
magenta for mischief,
lime for the joke that life forgot to end.

“Sauerei,” it says—
and the word dances like wine on a napkin.

Hypothesis: chaos wears empathy’s face.
Counter-hypothesis: the face wears chaos too well.

Synthesis:
the pig looks at you,
you look back,
and neither of you knows who started existing first.

DADA applauds with muddy hands,
signs the calendar,
and calls it beautiful evidence.