John Lane
The Truth About the Present
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
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