No Help for That | Jackie Clark

The shrugging belt rolls under,
displays recovered packaging.
Bars of soap saddled up with cucumbers,
mechanical recognition.
I like finding what I can and sticking it to the walls.
A pristine motivation,
likely rebuffs between beach-side and boulevard
Hearsay delineated under a summer sun.
I am putting the cup to the lip;
there is electing to be done,
idiosyncrasies to disdain.
Pleased when niceties sit in piles,
and cups go behind cabinet doors.
Towering worthy passage,
thin aristocracies sitting between stops.
Observed from the lawn in skeined ambivalence,
greetings from the way experience returns.
Antibodies of urbane youth and delicacy like dungeons.
No end to the length we are willing to wait.
Vespers recited, acknowledging the day.