XXI.
He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Only that his frame was rust.
He was a car.
A dead car.
XXII. I Had No Time to Hate, Because
…well, I’m not sure why…
Author: benwdalton
Artisanal mustard-liker / emilydickinsonstrashcan.com
XXI. He Ate and Drank the Precious Words
XX. I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed
I have very low tolerance.
XXI. Not in This World to See His Face
…sounds long, but wait until you hear this…
XX. The Last Night That She Lived
…it was a common night, except for the ghosts…
XVIII. There Is A Silly Goofiness
XVIII.
There is a silly Goofiness
That many die without,
Not feeling great that moment,
’Cause dying sucks a lot.
But nature sometimes, sometimes thought,
That whoso it befall
Laughs more than could be divulged
By banal folderol.
—
Dickinson’s final draft.
XIX. Of All The Souls That Stand Create
I screwed up.
