Saturday, September 12, 2009

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.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Sordello

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


Tuesday, September 1, 2009

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.

Vomitoria