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
