Birdsong, face it, some male machine

This poem concerns one of the most curious facts about birds that only the males sing. The title is the first line so I'll just jump right into it. Bird song, face it, some male machine gone, addled. Repeat, repeat, the damage keeps doing the world ending then starting,

the first word the last, etc. It's that, etc. How to love? Is a wire just loose? Build an ear for that. Fewer, they say. So many fewer, by far. He's showing off to call her back, or claiming the tree, or a complaint, the food around here, the ants, the moths, the berries.