Raw Spring

           on noticing a maple branch in March

Buds fist their way

Open: polyamorous

Display

Of thumbs, pushing

Pulp, in cold light. Say

Each threesome spawns

Six sores, poked at heaven—

Rakes

Low birds, thrusts

Red nubs:

           shaved

Tonsils, spat in flight.

Crouch and sway,

Chafe

And shove, muted

Buttons. Grind away.

Then speak rude

To power: Hey!

You arrogant

Flowers

Splay leaves

Like fingers; shaft

This day.