Emily, Oh, Emily

Emily, oh, Emily, they
took your poem,
interpreted it,
poked it
and prodded it,
then dissected it,
consumed it,
terminally tortured it,
and finally regurgitated
every word of it
till your sweet,
ungrammatical poem was
rendered lifeless except
for the musicians and
actors and poets
inspired to
pontificate upon
each and every
piece of it
and felt so very erudite
about it
and quite satiated
with all of it,
you might conclude
that they, not you,
actually wrote it.
Well, I guess it’s
kind of nice
just having
some attention
paid to it.

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