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The Terrain is Still Alive
ray succre
If I take up electric lusts like crocodiles eye the surface,
I should find I have no taste or touch, no smell beyond
the heated board.
The hands are dashed to bits, but the terrain is still alive.
Electric talk and sight has punched great holes into the world,
and there are no tighter valves to fit them
than those affixed for temperance.
I must never die, I am so mobile.
(c) 2007 by Ray Succre