Read quickly, this short poem is a jumble of images that don't quite add up, and that seems to be the point. The first line mashes together garbage, a bus transfer, and a blood transfusion, then sends the result washing up in "visceral circles," as if the city and the body had become one system carrying the same waste. Nothing is explained, so the reader has to feel the connection rather than decode it.
The second stanza is the most striking. Commodities, the goods we buy and sell, have "piglets," as though products breed more products, and they walk on their hands, upside down and slightly absurd. The speaker doesn't state an opinion, but the tone feels darkly playful, even mocking. Judging by the imagery, the poem sees consumer culture as messy, bodily, and a little grotesque. The mood is unsettled and wry, closer to a strange joke than a lecture.