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.

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