Gemini with Cancer
There is a bag
That is filling with
Hot Air
Holding air in
Floating up into lazy circles
In your father’s robe that has softened with age From being washed
From being worn
From Being washed again
I have a friend
He said to me once
He said
The sun also rises
It reminded me of seaside
Of where I spent late summer
A few days with my father
He told me the Oak tree bent
LAND OF THE
Cascade across quilted roads
Of voyeuristic backwoods thinned
In temperamental turmoil,
the vacancy
rendered in eventual vacation that
has ceased to pivot on its brass binder
Clamped tight to close the grand bowels
Of this brazen bull
Stoke the fire; stroke the feline
Claim dominion over the greener tide
Frothing on your shores and foaming at
The mouth
Riddled stricken with pacificity and defeatism ingrained from wooden cages of more
tender years
Say what it is
Say how it is with
Everybody I know