by Chris Jansen
Like a car wreck with a plastic sheet.
Like the place to go where we might meet.
Like a bloody bandaid in the street
next to a penny,
a yellow burrette,
my mother’s unlived life,
I go around.
And I derive my power from nothing.
Like the sun.
About the Poet: Chris Jansen is a recovering heroin addict. He lives in Athens, Georgia, where he teaches boxing and cares for a disinterested guinea pig named Poozybear.