responsibilities to clocks, ours

i

we can no longer await
the liberation of squat shopping malls
like square herds of stucco graze
arrive at the river
only to converge at a
right angle, die into
cardboard in thrift stores

where is the life cereal
broken over a fiber optic lesson in arranging
the stars on a car seat
saddle becomes throttle

my sister the bitch and rubs her feet together and starts a fire
feet together starts a fire
folded, snorted against a long line
of florida hedonists
agony in their directions

bored in wading pools of hospital runoffs and aesthetics
the sun as it sets, curses us

ii (epilogue)

my sister sits
the computer lights her face
and you might tell- later on-
she has been disturbed
there is genocide in Darfur

and you sit here
and listen to me standing
talking at an open mouth