The man in the monkey (quick draft, poem)

There was a man inside a monkey.

He saw the world through a monkey’s eyes.

He smelled all the smells that a monkey smelled.

He felt the fur, bristling in the cold afternoon breeze.

He tasted flies and other bugs.

He conspired to be head of the monkey community.

He was a monkey.

A monkey. Not inside a monkey. Just a monkey, really.

But, that doesn’t make such a good story, does it?

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