Like flowers bloomed and dropped,
The originals are vanished species
A fraud with a sun intact, window
Still a hole in the original sunlight.
I am duplicate Dickinsonian flower,
My original passed by first species.
You are your fakes in a conspiracy.
You are trying to steal my dead will.
I will hide my will under silk pillow.
I am a duplicate body in a fake soul.
I want moon light from original sun.
My words drop duplicates in sound.
Please close window to a fraud sun
It was not what I wrote in dead will.
A syntax is duplicate of my original.
A sentence lies in confusion of soul.
Words bloom and drop like flowers
In the duplicate noon of a fraud sun.
(Reading Emily Dickinson’s poem “It Bloomed and Dropt”)