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Ryan Bates
Poems
Feb 2014
The Machine
His hands turn the pages,
His eyes read the books.
His throat makes the sounds,
His lips form the words.
His feet shuffle forward,
His car goes to and fro.
His fingers type at a desk
click clack click clack
His pockets hold the checks.
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His body is all accounted for.
His work is done for the best of the best.
His mind is off at rest.
Written by
Ryan Bates
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