The hummingbird’s tilt to my flowered shirt-

and me stock still on the back porch. The hum

then absentium of it, amid the hull-

abaloo of Hawaiian print and girth

of California, and the girl inside

the apartment who’d eventually steal

my clothes and money, well, the shit got real

as the saying goes, or went, or did. Besides,

I am so sick of burth and birial,

the hummingbird’s tongue longer than it,

and she can have the money -and no meal

my shirt, so the dart-bird flew, hungry and dumb,

like everyone away, away, like all

our body a’comet saying, Come, come

Palm Desert