Smile I'm Grinning

The question I must ask -
from the time my answer arrives?
The pandoras box!
In fighting the problem:
what object is the base of one's
sexual act. . .
- or
all things considered consent.
The idea of taking ability and
transfering the energy that emits light.
Like, "cooped-up" chickens in darkness,
with bags over their heads.
They heard gun-fire.
They run around,
all of the chickens,
run.
Without their heads cut-off.
Therefore, the original question has altered
quite significantly.
The answer in question now is,
how do you get chickens to run around like they've
had their heads cut off.
You picture the chickens all with bags over their heads,
and you place bets on the winner.
Then, you turn off the lights without ever knowing.
Only, you know all of the chickens aren't "dead" per se.
And, you also realize that they've become aware of something.
The chickens have been taught,
what it would feel like to run around if they had
their heads cut off.
It's quite an amazing thought.
That those poor chickens weren't even told the reason,
they're running around with bags over their heads.
Is only to save them from themselves.
It'd be like whispering into the chicken's ear,
(if they had a conscious).
Listen to me, you silly chicken.
Once I place this bag over your head,
it means you'll run around as though you're head
will be cut off.
Then, in some spontaneous burst of energy,
the chickens all scatter wildly,
like mad little chickens running for thier lives.
They'd yell out in vanity.
"You've taken away my ability to cock-fight."
"You've taken away my ability to copulate with my
fellow chickens."
The chickens, never stopped to think.
They're running around in the dark,
as though no bags exist covering their
troubled little minds.
Poor chickens.
The real ending to this story is the moral.
Chickens need enough motivation that requires them
to feed on false predictions.
Poor chickens.
The secret is not yet out to this riddled population
of chickens.
I grin.
You might not imagine.
I'm smiling.
This mystery is safe with me.
The chickens are in such misery.
Always, the chickens get their signals crossed.
Never, can they lose sight of what's missing.