Emily Dickinson Goes Trick-or-Treating

I nipped from Whoppers’ hand
A slow and cautious bite
The Malted Milk above I felt
The whey became the light.

I knew not but the next
Would be my last Milk Ball—
My fingers wore a chocolate mask.
Prints left upon my shawl.


“Joy” is the thing with Almonds—
Perched in cocoa’s haul—
It sings of coconut, no words—
And never stops—at all—

I’ve heard it in the ghostly land—
And on the spectral Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity
It asked a bite—of Me.


Candy Corn—Candy Corn!
Were I with thee
Candy Corn should be
Our luxury!

Futile—the shape—
The pyramid of fire—
Done with the wax—
Done with the spire!

Rowing on Hallow’s Eve—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
in your Cavity!


I taste a rainbow never brewed—
From Skittles dipped in wax—
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such a saccharine axe!

Inebriate of Air—am I—
And Debauchee of Grin—
Reeling—less than Two Percent
Of Tapioca Dextrin


To make a Child of Sour Patch, it takes Syrup of Corn and Red 40,
Syrup of Corn, and Red 40,
And reverie.
The reverie alone will do,
If Red 40 is few.


Such Wafer is divinest Taste—
To a chocolate bat—
Much Taste—the starkest Wafer—
‘Tis the sweet Kit Kat
In this, as All, prevail—
Bite—and you will clap—
Break—you’re straightway dangerous—
And handled with a Snap—


I cannot live with You, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup—
It would be Life—
And Life is over there—
Behind the Shelf, by the Snickers

I could not die—with You, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup—
For One must wait
To shut the Other’s Gaze down—
You—could not—

So We must meet apart—
You there—I—here, by the Snickers—
With just the Door ajar
That Jack-O’-Lanterns are—and Prayer—

And that White Sustenance—
Despair—


Tootsie Pop is a turtle.
Hard shell—
Chewy roll—
Ah, too, it has a soul.

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