Prelude (in Whisper Minor)
I am barely here—
a rumor of snout,
a graphite ghost rehearsing existence.
Even erasure leaves fingerprints.
Oink has become suggestion.

Theory of the Faint

Line is memory.
Shade is hesitation.
Form—an afterthought of longing.
The artist sneezed once; I became fog.
Ich bin Schwein und Zwischenzustand,
ein Hauch auf der Rückseite des Denkens.

Quiet Manifesto

Do not call this unfinished.
It simply refused to shout.
Silence has its own contour,
curving softly around what’s gone.
In this light, even disappearance glows a little.

Dialogue Between Shadow and Paper

Shadow: I tried to stay.
Paper: I tried to hold you.
Pig: I tried to be real.
Together we made a compromise called art—
delicate, half-living, entirely sincere.

Coda for the Barely Visible

What remains is not sadness.
It’s the dignity of almost.
DADA bows its head, finally quiet.
The page exhales.
And there I am—
still fading, still enough.