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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Fooling Around

meanwhile -- in Iraq.

it is what it is.
The cold is gone
for now
from Cambridge
when the sun is up

i see the man
in a ragged tweed
lick his hands
clean of ketchup

from the wrapper
round the cheap hotdog
sold by the Libyan vendor
on the Yard

he smiles at me
as if all is right with the world.

Don't worry,
i looked away.
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