Day One

Pork a chop lips now

Look across
The still black waters
Of first day
Stretching across the horizon
Off gravity
The geese take flight
And fall back afraid to go south
The sound they make the moment
Of breath you know the seasons change at the sound
Is gasssssssssp
As they are sucked into the black violent oooze of the lake
The sign reads in proper provincal parkenese
Welcome to swan lake
Welcome to the land according to klein
And the line up of the tory blue ss
Blue in the face cause there afraid to breathe
Release emissions that might get them fired
Ralphy the common man kyoto he can never pronounce quioxite due to the fact is foreign and spanish
Raises his lance against the iron dragon chretien and misses
Going the wrong way and ends up spearing a giant who thinks he is a windmill
What is pig poetry
It is poetry that dares to breathe the lines against the regime of king klein
And his merry band who smokes coal and rolls out the barrel of oil monkeys
And does not think there is a problem
Once there was buffalo poetry
I asked my friend if he was a buffalo
He looked at me and said what
A buffalo
Are you a buffalo
Syncrude has a patch of green in which there live these buffalo
Six very terrified buffalo as tar sands oil machinery crash around them
And in this act syncrude can say there environmental
We are buffalo
Symbols of the arts
But if we speak out we are served up nicely on a bun
At the tory stampede
Quick slip under the fence
I got the shears paint yourself pig as a pig
They will never know
What that glow
Oh sorry wrong paint
Now your glowing as brightly as the waters under ralph's regime
As environmental ministers never trust a guy whose roles as minisinister was to sell of half the forest.
So be a pig send out poetry while you have a voice
Cause I here there serving bacon next
Cause alberta is no longer the land of beef since the
Cows have died of drought
And are as diseased and mad as the politicians
Which don't make good eating cause they taste of oil
And baldy recycled ideas.
And iam drowning no ballet feet cut off
And hands firmly crippled in the swan lake
And THE PIG POETRY CANNOT SAVE ME
My bones are turned into the blood of war machines
And profit
And prophets warned me but we did not listen and this is our last
only breath treasure it