TEK

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The woody pecker peck
Clouds assemble is a distant horizon,
Them of the local dialect scream "Koth mapek"
As the swallows, the swifts, the hawks, the crows
And the weavers try to understand why human brain
Is sharper than a falcon's beak
Yet slower than a sloth
Why sleepy like a snail, smeary like a slung
For clouds formed in the frame
Of their ancestors' eyes and dripped 'mapek'
Today, the form but fail to drench a man on a long trek
Fail to support tree sap and streak
At the bottom of plates, leave hunger
Honeyless hives
Flowers wither
Seeds no-longer form
How will fruit form?

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The sound of a pecker ready for a family
To be fed on rotten human eyeballs
That fail to see the dark rainless clouds
The starved soil
The love for oil
The orb has a boil;
Let all guard their groin
For in pain, fauna and flora boil