Prologue

The handwriting hums, uneven yet sure.
Blue wind behind, green beneath —
a pig floats in strokes,
thinking itself into being.

Body I

New law of this cosmos:
There is no right,
and perhaps more beautifully —
no wrong.
Each mark breathes its own rhythm.
The pig emerges, unbothered by precision,
its snout a compass of intuition.
Woodcut, sketch, echo —
the paper forgives everything.

Body II

Voice of the Pig: “Do I exist because you drew me?”
Hand replies: “No — because you stayed.”

DADA Break

scribble—oink—pause.
The ink laughs quietly in blue.

Closing

No perfection, only presence.
The line rests, the pig smiles.
Tomorrow, another sheet,
another beginning in pink.