Bird Spew

And who am i? What shall it be
Well-trained horn or bird set free?
The noose is made
of coils unseen
too late for us,
some may deem
To run-a, fly-a, spirit ourselves
away
From bird-seed; fed
till bloated
each day.

Young sparrows wonder
what the great robin may be
So to check they shoot
with arrows - and flee
Question is, these archers
are they in forts or moats?
Either way the breathing
is difficult without boats
to surf the rotten seed
thrown
without thought or wonder
alone
down the dead robin's
swelled gut.