9.7.07

A suicide stampede is tearing,
Ripping through the lakeside grass
With cataclysm in their grunts
And terror everywhere they pass.
The lookers-on are softly swearing,
Slack-jawed and perturbed at once,

And O, the unclean swine, they stumble,
Piling in a squalid heap
With stumpy legs and curly tails
All tangled up, two thousand deep.
There's terror driving all that jumble;
Chaos dwells in mammals' wails.

The squealing and the stench is growing,
Tumbling down a browning slope
With teeth exposed and eyes all glazed;
The farmers have abandoned hope.
Some now say their eyes are glowing;
Mothers shelter babes, amazed.

The pigs now run out to the sand,
The shore, our peaceful region,
Fleeing from where they all said
In fear, "My name is Legion,"
And onward-pressing, they can't stand
Their own pink minds, now burning red,

And so they reach the final place
Of self-destruction, plunging deep,
Filth and organs splayed, undone
Upon the rocks to rot and seep
As days dissect and waves erase
The sacks of flesh that could but run.