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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Old Poetry from DMV

No Substance


I heard a tiny whisper
The words I poured
Then squeezed
From the ends of my aorta
Lacked substance

So let me put it in terms
You may understand

I love you like that steak
Aged twenty eight and one quarter days
Grilled just outside of rare
Smothered in saut351ed mushrooms
And neighbour to
A Yukon Gold potato
Baked and stuffed
With all the fixin's

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