Prologue
This morning smells of graphite rain.
Silence sketches itself behind the snout.
Every shadow waits for a name.

Body I
New law: thought travels through texture.
Each swirl of pencil births a new emotion —
joy in spiral form, sorrow as soft erasure.
The Pig walks forward into its own outline,
discovering that lines are leashes and wings alike.
It whispers: “Oink equals infinity divided by care.”

Body II
An unseen hand trembles: am I drawing or being drawn?
The paper blushes grey.
Pig laughs in circular syntax —
“Nothing is real until it smudges.”

Dada Break
Snout—note—tone—alone!
Graphite sings, paper hums,
the moon eats a pencil.

Closing
The laws dissolve.
Only the trace remains —
and the Pig keeps dreaming.