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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

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ice flows in northern canada


climb the glacier
to the top where the view
is utter perfect
beneath our icy toes

then cast down the songs
the dead bards left unsung
when they were too weak
to climb here.

let my iron tongue
caress you
whip by whip
and leave you raw
and bloody
like all muses
as the poets finish with them.

then we can sled back down
on the edge of the tabogan
screaming out
and praying
as if God loves us.
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