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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Dregs & Other Unreadables

holding court while fruit rot

ripe apples fall from a tree
thirty feet from the glass
doors he watches from
his happylicious throne

each lands
once in the dude-icured grass
rolls an unprescribed short distance
and meditate-waits quietly for worms.

anarchy is like that
so is the dude king's smile.
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