after Bei Dao

 

 

when rivers are intoxicated

with dioxide you gather lotus shoots

to pick their pockets is

the clock of the age

 

when the last songbird

shivers with undue cold like wires overhead

to handle harsh metals is

the clock of the age

 

when your keyboard dissolves

in the pit of nations

to write in echoes is

the clock of the age

 

when you forge transparencies

in the foundries upstream

the bridges are blocked by karaoke

their digital sand is

the clock of the age

 

the cell phone's face is always

time-dependent on fingers somewhere

today opens to the nearby delta

and tomorrow

is the clock of the age