What if pigs had to wander a thousand miles?

Jason Kittner, Meret Schmiese

What if pigs had to wander a thousand miles? 
Oceans, lakes, vast bodies of water,
twenty-four hours of air.
Slimy bodies, their reproduction shrouded in mystery. 
Shape-shifters of old, elusive to domestication,
their enigma defeating every effort.
Older than you, nourished by me. 
You can only wonder how they reach the Saragosso Sea. 
What wisdom do you hold?
Our dialogue becomes a metamorphosis, a new reality. 
Will you step on stage, shall we share a reality?
A reality bristle with slick, hairy skin, both slimy and strange.
No natural habitat, find home in architecture ranging from
brutalist to comfy.
What would their true sorroundings be?
We know so much by living close, you harvest their flesh. 
Raised and tamed to hold and serve.
Perlensau, du Schwein, du Ferkel! 
What do you see in me?
Crafting a space between the aal-glatt and the something
kein Schwein can imagine.
Imagniative spaces turned inside out.
Your inner stage is my outside world.
Creature, architecture, world, stage.
Constant turning, inner dialogue shaped by an outer stage.
A shell, a script, an instruction.