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Selection 6 of
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The church bells swallow the autumn noon ruckus With their bold bronze proclamation. The college din is perfumed with smoke And cheap dollar store cologne. The walks are stained with crisply defined shadows Hiding the scars of coffee and chewing gum. I wait in silent disheveledness For him Due to wind. He's late So I ponder a morning of genetics: "You could give birth to your grandmother." "You could eliminate disease and disability." "You could pick a child's appearance, intelligence, and gender." Horror stories of modern science? All true. Children of the future could be genetically superior If not for ethical opposition. Science fiction is now And he's late. |
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Selection 6 of
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