Justin Marks

All these years of using words

to lose money

Necessary

frugality

Firm but also

feeble

gestures toward a life outside

the great ruin

of late capitalism

A spiritual

expanse

My not

super-chill

demeanor

*

All these friends

The dead, the gone

The still here

We are all

still here

“Listening

to the rain

hearing

something else”

sings Tom Verlaine

*

A real ignoramus

I misread “uprising” as

“unsurprising”

Write letters

of apology

and culpability

Delight and

detritus

Energy gathered

and spent

This physical

embodiment

progressing towards

its reward

*

It’s ok

I know my limits

When to stop

talking and listen

A coded

signal for help

Order without shape

All we have to do is wait

for our next poems

Those shareable objects

Their weight and volume

What we perceive and can’t

articulate

Old friend

or stranger whose path

we crossed just

minutes ago

*

Sorry nature

You lose

Nurture rewired you and I

despair no more