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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in poetry

Death in the Afternoon

She revered words.
But only
in ink
written
on the pages of books
by men
(and women)
who were just trying
to make sense
of it all.

The spoken were understood.
But resounded
empty,
devoid
of truth
or intention.
Impressed by
their own
sincerity
but never quite
believing it.

Take the words
as you would your
grand gestures.

Square me the circle.
Fetch me the moon.

Hand me death in the afternoon.

Leanne - on Aug. 25 2007

I think the shift here from third person to first is very effective, as are the demands for impossibilities -- concluding with the very possible "death in the afternoon". 

A question, since I've noticed a recurring theme in your writing:  do you think it's more difficult to lie in the written form?  Do words, committed to ink, somehow become more true?  Or is it just that they are to be read by more people than the number that will hear the spoken words, and therefore they must be true for one at least?  Just pondering, really. 


Mellanie Carney - on Mar. 7 2009

Square me the circle.
Fetch me the moon.

beautiful.




Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.
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