the daughters garden

the daughters garden of the you beaut country

 

we multitudes were a john olsen exhibit

under a sydney king sun mania

of garden selves oh the pied beauty

of the stipple and folly of the poet’s

garden at the entrance to the seaport of desire

where the bee sucks so sucked we

 

the yard of our you beaut country dappled with

fences our shovels splitting elastic loam like ripe

watermelons in the siren city where we race

that green fuse bursting our flowering

we two the saliva’s throat

we both pollinators siphoning all this juice

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