Cold Night So Far Below Disinterested Stars
The indecisive rain
Moved dirt around on the red car hood
The way it marbled
Your thoughts about me.
It is a black satin morning
The clouds having slipped away;
I am the sidewalk
Between pools of streetlight.
The air, my air, has escaped me-
Whispered away, gone;
The way it mirrored
You in my life.
Around the sleeping homes
Of quiet corners,
The crimson line of false dawn
Scribbles a lie from right to left.
The earth turns regardless of me
Of what it might order accutane no prescription crush
In its disinterested steamroller rush.
Soon the houses will make
Toast, eggs, cereal-
While my house sleeps
Below disinterested stars.
Marc Janssen has lived in the state of Oregon, the state of Jefferson, and other mythic places. He coordinates the Salem Poetry Project, a weekly poetry reading and open mic. Janssen has been published in dozens of journals most recently Penumbra, The Ottawa Arts Review, and Cirque Journal as well as anthologies such as Manifest West.