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Astonishing drafts from poetry's most famous recluse

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Tag: Funny

XXV. Belshazzar Had a Letter
Life

XXV. Belshazzar Had a Letter

September 29, 2019September 29, 2019 benwdaltonLeave a comment

He made very little sense.

XXI. Your Riches Taught Me Poverty
Love

XXI. Your Riches Taught Me Poverty

August 29, 2017August 27, 2017 benwdaltonLeave a comment

…though myself a millionaire…

XXI. Not In This World To Know His Face
Horrible Death

XXI. Not In This World To Know His Face

August 23, 2017August 20, 2017 benwdaltonLeave a comment

…sounds long, until…

XVIII. Come Slowly, Penis!
Love

XVIII. Come Slowly, Penis!

June 17, 2017June 16, 2017 benwdaltonLeave a comment

…lips unused to thee…

XVII. She Rose to His Requirement, Dropped
Love

XVII. She Rose to His Requirement, Dropped

June 16, 2017June 16, 2017 benwdaltonLeave a comment

…the playthings of her life…

XVI. I’m Wife, I’ve Finished That
Love

XVI. I’m Wife, I’ve Finished That

June 10, 2017June 10, 2017 benwdaltonLeave a comment

What next?

XIX. Pain Has An Element of Blank
Life

XIX. Pain Has An Element of Blank

June 7, 2017June 6, 2017 benwdaltonAsideLeave a comment

XIX.

Pain has an element of blank
Plus a little oxygen
And perhaps some bronze,—
Basically all the chemical elements.

It has no other pieces but those,
In addition to a dram of bile—
And a bit of transcendentalum—
Wait—let me think more a while.

 

—

The original (as written by Dickinson).

XVII. I Never Saw a Moor
Horrible Death

XVII. I Never Saw a Moor

June 6, 2017June 6, 2017 benwdaltonImageLeave a comment

At least, not a real one…

XVII. My Pee Is In The Dark
The Single Hound

XVII. My Pee Is In The Dark

June 4, 2017June 2, 2017 benwdaltonLeave a comment

…I cannot see the seat…

XVI. The Blunder Is to Estimate
The Single Hound

XVI. The Blunder Is to Estimate

June 3, 2017June 2, 2017 benwdaltonAsideLeave a comment

XVI.

The blunder is to estimate,—
“Christmas is Then,”
We say, as of a station.
Meanwhile he is so near,
He joins me in my ramble,
Creeps behind me while shopping.
No friend have I that so persists
As Christmas coming.

 

—

Dickinson’s final draft.

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