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Electronic

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These hands are texting hands that expect me to write

A steve jobs flash mob, not a book review that fills my lung with dust

I practice science more than words; centrifugal force of a pen

A demolished pencil victim to the canines of the human kind

The kind that talks rather that studies

The lexicon of life, yet I do not map

The curvatures that are tongued with a slur

Elongated with a handshake, some expletives here and there

The life of a teenager, electronic air





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