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This is bizarre. Uncanny, even. I was browsing through my little home library for something to read and pulled down Ginsberg’s Death and Fame: Last Poems. That in itself wasn’t bizarre. This is where it gets bizarre…

I opened the book to a random page and started reading this poem:

Richard III

Toenail-thickening age on me,
Sugar coating my nerves, leg
          muscles lacking blood, weak kneed
Heart insufficient, a thick’d valve-wall,
Short of breath, six pounds
          overweight with water-
logged liver, gut & lung — up at 4 a.m.
          reading Shakespeare.

          February 4, 1997, 4:03 a.m., NYC

Note the date (I’m writing this post on the 4th, my time). Then note the title and guess who’s been all over the news today since his body’s been positively identified after 500 years or so? Richard III.

Uncanny.

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