Aint it good to beat back Home?

Entry for a contest about 'change'. I have exemplified the theme by 'changing' from not writing poetry to writing some poetry. Church!

... or kestrel maybe? 
Either way it was fast.  That little one
never had a chance.

Do they digest like owls?  Like readers?
Depositing tight packs of rearrang'ed parts
marginally less useful than they once were?

... I can't stay, see,
I've signed a lease.  Committed.  Done.
Too often sad-- askance.

Oh yeah they build:  Like beavers!  Like ants!
Steep-stacked mounds of dis-astray'ed parts
largely more useful than they were, by twice!

If tits sell t-shirts and Jeffersonian schwag,
I'll eat the menu as the meal and
turn "a woman" to "an hag".

Delusions of constancy are constant, see,
though philosophical fouls. 
While illusions of alterations bewitch us in our parkset hours. 

Disastrous ashtray is overflowing on my pants.  

Author's Note

I have no idea how to write poetry. This is a first draft. Please excuse its quality, it was written directly after stepping on a moment's spur, I may have been distracted.

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[Seshat Nidaba]

You have components of a writer, I could never become, odd time signatures, comedy, obscure references, and oh, wit.