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Electronic
April 6, 2011
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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