No Help for That | Jackie Clark

Opposed to the middle, land humming
like hamlets, deplorable vacancies and pastures
Settling words, often enticing,
every line eventually leads straight.
Inspiration located outside in unreachable realms,
the insipid caw of something much older
Making sense of impenetrable episodes that are shortened and condensed:
My movie for you where I wave from a distance but keep moving ahead.
No one really sees attrition, plant-life, passing paddocks
and the morning hand which turns rectangular dimensions;
the way we greet what only passes.
The black length I sit behind,
equipped songbirds on the ledge,
nothing is bigger than this moment
in its fatigue like crescent moons, allowing shadows
as its dragged across the nylon, the fists
of endtime and narrow sounds. I am always listening.