It’s me again,
following thunder around like it’s my job.
I’d rather focus on you,
Yours is the prettiest protest:
don’t do anything crazy in these crazy hours.
We both want the same thing,
but meanwhile I’m choking on radio static.
You’re the let loose I can never be.
Luckily, you overestimate me;
what if my innocence is specific to you—
a bond that centers around
pockets full of more pockets?
I’m well-versed in the gravity of branches:
I know that they proliferate
but they never escape the tree.
Patrick Tiernan is from a small town in Iowa. He’s been writing poetry since high school, where he was first introduced to the work of Allen Ginsberg, Frank O’Hara, W.S. Merwin, and James Wright, among others.