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”)

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