So there’s this woodpecker
He pecks all day
Peck Peck Peck
Peck Peck Peck
Pecks his life away
Ever seen him stop and wonder?
At the glories of the world and beyond?
Did you ever see?
Him staring at a tree
And thinking about Joyce Kilmer?
Nope, can’t recall
Any such incident

So why should I stop
And smell the flowers I don’t see
Why should I write a poem
As beautiful as a tree
When no one else gives a ****

I should be hanging around friends
Rolling joints with the money for my rent
I should be the eternal narcissist
Like the one who sits above
But we’ll come to him later

Right now what I wanna know
Is what gives me the right to control
Everything I see
And everything I don’t
Coz frankly speaking
There’s a lot I don’t know

What gives me the right
To play with someone’s life
And blame it on ignorance?

I thought someone could tell me
Someone could answer
The stupidest question in the world
But if I ask someone
Why they’re doing something
They all say the same thing
Coz everyone else is.

Good.
So now we’ve got that cleared.
I’m doing what I’m doing
Because everyone else is doing what they’re doing
And everyone else is doing what they’re doing
Because I’m doing what I’m doing

To sum it up,
None of us know what any of us is doing
Or why they’re doing it.

Looks like we evolved backwards.
At least the apes knew what they were doing.
Sleep. Eat. ****. Have ***. Sleep.
That simple collection of words got what the people
Who call themselves the brainiest guys in the world didn’t:

Logic.

And I’ll tell you why they didn’t get it
Because they were the birdbrains
Who came up with the idea of a nuclear bomb
Which has really set the bar for human stupidity
No one can surpass that.

Because the ‘logic’ behind the nuclear bomb is
“You give me what I want
Or I’ll blow up your country”

People in the highest position of their respective countries
Spent money exceeding ten times the number of their population
On such nuclear bombs.

Which, in fact, they’ll never use.

True story.
Tell you the truth, I’d rather be a woodpecker.

Nothing about a bird's life
seems difficult,

after escaping the egg. All birds ever called to fly,
first survive the egg.

After surviving the egg,
each bird seems

eminently able -- wait,

learning to fly,
that seems difficult

no, that, too, is automatic, an algorithm in some avian system
of cellular facility formation
while
maturation of flight feathers takes time,
not know how.

Wait, and see if

reasoning in birdbrains may be mono pole,
one aim, one direction

like by monopole
electrons driven, an action reaction loop, find good...

good? no, good? no, good, yes,eat this and
grow a few feathers,
without thinking, what are feathers for,
where no feathers were.

Birdbrains do not reason why. The baby watches
momma fly.

Unless, men have changed the program, tamed our wild ways,
fed us corn in quantities we never could imagine,

ours is but to be useful, my Raven mentor caws,
laughing like he knows I have no clue.

-- in the air a query, are chickens still birds?

In the big cities
birds
don't sing anymore,
they sit in the parks
waiting for handouts
beaks in the papers
reading the football scores,

clever little chirrups or
should that be cherubs?

Cats cannot be arsed with them
kids leave them alone
they're profligate if that's the word
and better on their own,

maybe profligate is not correct
perhaps the birds are really wrecked
and need someone to salvage them,
to give them hope
to take their birdbrains off the dope
to see them in a different light
to encourage them back into flight,
but who cares?