An ungreased swing
singing dunes of cloud
across a blue sky; it’s
the common line. Our differences lie
in the songs we don’t sing; a measure of rust
on the chains that hold us. Or that some of us hold
the chains. Like how all five senses hold
the railing at Niagara. And like,
when lacking stimuli,
they let go by
pulling down.
It's why I leave
the bedroom fan on.
Light a candle. Watch a movie. Eat something
salty by the ocean.
Listen to
something I can sink in that
isn't us.
— SEAN TIERNEY
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