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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Jasmine's Poetry

Seraph's Cry: Prelude

Heaven is
conformity,
squared;
a double
negative: 

It's the cigarette
between her lips,
the debaucher's
tongue shoved
in her cleavage.

Light winks out,
shifting black pinpricks
in the space among
haloed silhouettes.

And she stands on
streets paved gold,
shoulder blades
stripped as far
as her wings
will allow.

Uriel - on Feb. 17 2008
I'm not one for commenting but i had to tell you that i liked this.
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