O swine do you enjoy the pearls set before you
Or are they not as easy to swallow as the sludge you are used to
Circe did not turn you into the pigs which though art
But you cast that spell upon thyself
Cast it in the form of a green se a that comes forth but always
Ebbs through the fingers of goodness
As the faces of those revered stare coldly back at you
They have faces
They can show on them the greedy grin, which gives the people
The grapes of wrath, which they are made to swallow
Some do not have faces
But rather waiting for the time when Prometheus will
Carve them one out of clay are burnt by the
Wickedly zealous Zeus as he continues to try and stop the inevitable
And not inherit his father's fate.
To get faces they will have the chance
But the emissary from the Plutonian shore shares not the form of a raven
But that of a pig with wings
And the blood of the masses on its hooves
As it tramples all hopes and dreams
And though how such a monstrosity
Could lift off by the crucible of
Adam Smith's mind
This had surely cracked.
One only hops that someone knows how to shoot it down.
In answer to nonsense, I recite despair
When oysters and walruses and carpenters
Talk of pigs with wings
They have not of a dove
But that of a harpy
How that bewinged swine taunts me
As it perches not upon Pallas Athena, but the treacherous form of Eris
Which clutches the world
In her apple throwing hands
That serves only to place an apple before the mule
As capital brings out the mule in every one of us
Which is brought out in the light of a spinning poisonous apple
Lured before us making us toil
But truly it is only poison for I have seen the nexus of its core
Which though should lie in the streets by a trashcan
Lies in the home by a fountain
And placed upon sterling white carpets and glistening pools
Though looking outwards
I see only destruction and pain in the lingering form
So sits the scene in the parlor
When Lenore is surely dead.
And innocence is lost.
Then walks forward a man from the shadows
And says not
"Quit the bust above my chamber door"
But says to the animal
"We do not want you anymore"
The pig transforms then into its true self
A slave master, whip in hand
Moreover, while not trusting its own people
Does not arm them with any argument
But sends them to the slaughter
Which does not come
For the man stands olive branch and book in hand
And does not strike one thing down
As evil musters around the man says
"I am not afraid of my destiny any longer
I will not surrender to the darkness"
His olive branch grows and seeds
Land on proletarian ground where it
Grows and spreads
And then to a rousing chorus of
"Beasts of England"
Which no Bonaparte or swine can spoil
The people arise.