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Shakespeare's Monkeys
Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
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Only in wintertheir brittle filigreenetworks veins of charcoal,fine-cutting cold horizons.
Precise as finger-prints,arterials thread to fractals,fan digital off-shootswhere lines evolve in light.
The simple sub-divides,complex clusters extend;patterning the empty sky,their reachings photosynthesize.
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There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.