On Instinct Alone

I’d say I’m a monkey but I know that I’m not. I have two thumbs right here that can do quite a lot. I can pick and shovel to bury my dead and poke letters on a screen to eulogize them.

I’d say I’m a cat but I know that I’m not. I have two bald feet that I cover up a lot. I can walk and talk while licking a cone but I can’t cross your path on balled feet alone.

I’d say I’m a dog but I know that I’m not. I have two friends right here that I cherish a lot. I can howl and moan how much I adore before putting them down a day premature.  

I’d say I’m human but I know that I’m not. I have two ways of thinking, too much and a lot. I can write and sing to shoot for Bob Dylan or I can go about my day without instincts for killin’.