The Rape Of Emily Dickinson Poem by William Waterway

Emily, oh Emily, my Emily
how I love thee

for years I read your poems
by warm glow of kerosene light
living alone with no electricity
deep in the woods of West Tisbury

all went well until one day
I learned that after you died
and you no longer had any say
publishers of your writings
did edit your poetry to fit
the “proper” form for poems

little did people know back then
that what they were reading
was not your neat poetic essence rare
but contrivance of effete men debonair
who felt your poems needed certain corrections
as they raped you with their egocentric erections

but, as time went by and lettered society evolved
and women began to make their presence tell
a publisher published your angelic words untouched
and caused those who raped to fall into literary hell

Emily, oh Emily, my Emily
we continue to explore your virgin birth of form
as your immortal children grow into Internet maturity
and offer all who wish to know your original poetry
an orgasmic sense of your timeless love for society