The Crisp of the Crackling is in the Chawing

I wrote this after reading something about pig farming. It always shocks me when i read about the incredible cruelty involved with this sort of caper. It was hard to find solid numbers about husbandry and water usage, waste etc so all these numbers are quite conservative.

The title is from Finnegans Wake.

---

    ABS estimates up to 320 liters
Of water used
    Per kilo of beef.

38 percent
    Water is for livestock
    And pasture.
10 percent all grains
    (Including rice)
Only 3 percent grain
        Alone.
Another 6 percent 
On fruit and veg.

The vegescarians are out 
Inforse - sending the willy 
Billys up them spine bone
Of the conifers. Thus who
Are haphap happy to divers shout
Lick spittle lips of breezy
Distended belly moan
Falsifatted lies to unscrew.

130 times the amount of waste 
Livestock to humans. Mostly untreated.
Exempt from regulations.
    How much shit would a piggy shit if 
    Piggy could shit. (23 litres (on average))
                      Hobbled and feverish...
    150,000 of them crowded together.
     
Abducted liver of duck duck goose,
Brains of sheep, the lungs of lamb,
Holes of hungry cowboys
Filled with textured tripe and sinew.
(Finger licking, down chin dripping juice).
Or still silken knickered jam
Tart of firm tofu.
Scorning boosers of greasy spew.

Antibiotics by the score.
    Deforestion.
        Desertification.

June twenty two, 
Nein ten more than,
Phortie Won.
Invade CCCP - reinforce
Militarism - Democracy 
Can not survive. Like in 1792.

"From this place, 
And from this day forth 
Begins a new era 
In the history 
Of the world.

And you can all say that you were 
Present at its birth."

Crackling open rich farm land
Commune bones and vampyre wise
Drinking down the rich marrow
Dripping greasy chin.
Cracking open the bones.
Rich stem cell providing 
Marrow.

Sordello

Considered by many to be the hardest poem to understand in the English language. Make of it what you will.

---

Pounding Allen

Allen Ginsberg and Ezra Pound. The old and the new. The racist and the Buddhist met in Italy. Many people have told this story. This is my version.

---

 
High High High Hare

Queen Jane visits uncle Ez
In Venice.

Playing Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands
For him.

1967 
Viet Nam
    A dozen or less
    Months afore 
    Police riot
    Daley windy city.

Who prophets from War?
Cherchez la cash...

Depressed
    Down. Silent.
    Sad. What is a life?
    A handful of 
    Moments, maybe a chiler 
    Or twain.

    What is a life?
    A gutful of lies.
    A phraud.

Very sad to look back...
Il poeta
Too late
Too late...
    I arrived 
    The certainty 
    I know nothing.

He rolled a spliff
She called him
    A big lovable dog
    Hairy with sloppy kisses.
Want to wash your hands?
Do you need any money?
He replied.
    And he passed on the pot.

Hare Hare
Krishna Krishna
    Deepening
The sorrow
    Fading aquamarine.

And after all this 
I understand I am 
A MORON.

Follow the money.
NOT the jews (not Naomi).
Stupid suburban prejudice.
But...
    Follow the money.
    Who profits from war?
    Bankers Usurers Parasites.

War
Profit
Litany.

...or shells fragmented to 1000s
Of flesh piercing needles.