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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Dregs & Other Unreadables

pulling back the curtain to let sunrise in

i sketched our fragrance in black ink
on the whitest bits of your flesh

you feigned sleep,
while i marked it down
orchid, no
last month's moldy beans, perhaps

then with a warning,
"i love you,"
sung with chicadeees and poison skinned toads

the best of me
splattering nasalward
crushed lemon and bitter black pepper,

"Yes,
my love.

My darling."

you woke with a sneeze
to another bad dream.
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