Hummingbird

Red blinkers turn signal
(no time for a turn signal).

Kinetic on the wire, simply droll.
You tell me I am your desert,

you don’t bother to spell check dessert.
Your reverse halo effect

careens, careless thoughts
pinned to your collar. 

Pumpkin


This is less how to, more about why.
Your flat palms are a self-imposed
loss of freedom.

You’ve confessed,
prostate from Davis Creek
where you were born.

Irrevocable as shoes.
Trumpets and drums.
Interlinked perfection.

I won’t go so far to say brilliance or exactitude,
it’s too early for that.
Only you and I know about the grey-ness.


The plums have been pillaged in any old fashion.