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.