This is a very short poem, just two lines, but it packs in a bleak picture. It opens with a single blunt statement: "Filth gathers." Nothing is cleaning anything up; dirt simply piles up on its own. Then comes the stranger image: "swine-human clones" being carried past in "soot-choked bassinets."
A bassinet is a baby's bed, so the poem links newborns with pollution, and the babies aren't even quite human. Calling them "swine-human clones" suggests copies made without individuality, part animal, part person. The word "carried by" makes them sound passive, like goods on a conveyor belt.
The speaker doesn't say how they feel, and that's part of the effect. The cold, observational tone suggests disgust or dread, maybe a warning about a world where life is mass-produced and fouled from the start. The mood is grim, claustrophobic, and unsettling, like glimpsing something ugly you can't look away from.