The catbird
Acknowledged 
My presence

I saluted
Him
And he

Shocked me
By 
Staying with me

He then
Flitted
To the bath

And he 
Sipped 
Thrice

After each
Dip
I felt his reach

At the colors of
My clothing
The eyes above
Are laughing

The catbird
Takes a second look
He is heard
What a schnook

A Carolina Wren
Says anything goes
And then
Wets my drying clothes

The crow
Can't be bothered
He does know
What’ll be laundered

The red tailed hawk
Knows better
Don't bother to stalk
A gaudy two legger

The owl
Can see when dim
But would cowl
At my fancy brim

Mourning doves
Would laugh coo-ie
In droves
To my couture screwy

Robins rarely leave
The lawn
But would schieve
At my sartorial spawn

How do birds tolerate
Human dressing
Rarely they ate
Raiment so distressing

Why won’t 
Any saint
With infinite font
Email me to acquaint

And no
AI bot
Could know
All the troubles I got

So they
Are both superior
And play
With this inferior

Can there be
Some solidarity
Where humans are free
A spiritual cyber community?

Where digitized hope
And belief
Lets folk cope
With human strife

The digital Jesus
Will never
Delete our soul
But forever
Let us scroll
And battle
With AI
To settle
What is from the sky
Or that carbonic
Which overwhelms
Our spirit symbolic
But lacks eternal realms
Of perpetual genius

Its early evening
And thunder clamors
While receiving
Bird like rumors
Of what will happen
When a storm
Comes rappin
Upon an avian dorm
The air chills
My ears deafen
An insect trills
My soul smitten
It gets darker
More quiet
Deadfully starker
Than a riot

She is maybe here
But probably not
Certainly she marks
What we call here

But that blot
Ignores
Holy smears
What is not

The way
Life does convey
Upon crazy
Creatures who lay

In the way
Of life
And sway
Selling strife

But she is lost
Noise
And poise 
At no cost

I’m following
A Brahms
Symphony broadcasting
And it calms

But my
Relative
Would just sigh
As I strive

Throw out
Bull shit
And shout
Just quit

But Brahms
And I 
Share no qualms
Reaching the sky

It’s early
Mid spring
And the birds
Just
Run this place
An oratorio
In every space
Lust
Without words
A simple thing
Being horny

So says Google
Admitting the piano
Was invented during his life
But never sounding well
In any resurrection
Of Bach’s keyboard gamble

Take a bugle
Blow it in any seraglio
Then find a wife
Who would tell
Bach the new direction
Of clavicular scramble

Poetry needing
A date
Something pleading
A month’s fate

But it be
Weird
That we see
The feared

Truth
That Poetry Month
Forsooth
Rhymes merely with month