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Shakespeare's Monkeys
Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
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The Old Country The world Is a fluid secret And I am a stone That cannot melt Granite made powder Made grain made dust We never share The same atmosphere Skin stitched to bone Like a second hand love Secret to gift to caress to kiss I need to learn to remember this
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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.