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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Poetry

Found in Fields of Grass

A woman is haunted by memories of her lover.

And I forget I can't remain

searching fields for faraway hills

where your berry stained mouth

on ghostly grass

slid down night's sun

behind day's back.

No love was killed

spare hours died

my covered skin

in coloured lies

you left before truth made you buy

another man's lost wife.

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