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In the Side Yard The blades are calling, of their cutting length a chorus of green swaying tongues giving voice not to wanted needs, but hope of strength of character in performance living little planters pat down their nuts, then bolt to the playground of limbs, a branch to bank deposits withdrawn with a summersault the bodies tale, a twitched alarm and yank upright a furry Buddha meditates on things beneath his exalted station gathers and reapers, a sea of pates a ballet of mechanized relations all are entertainers and entertained an audience with actions well ingrained |
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