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 to guilt Eighth deadly sin, halfhidden dissembler you resemble dwarf centipede hunching among dead leaves and soilor are you between Envy who bites her nails and Sloth who can’t be bothered? You vanish when I’m hard at work then gash me when I sit to read a novel or even think of running to the movies or out to buy a skirt. Or else your stepsister Mother-Guilt with her 82 legs barges in on me here in the café when I think I’ve given you the slip; she finds me slacking off for five minutes not with my child but reading the paper about a new species of centipede discovered in Central Park. How else assuage you but equate you draw you in: among leaf litter at less than half an inch you are shorter than your name, Nannarrup hoffmani. With your poisonous fangs you will probably eat me when I am nothing but body; for now feed on this. ...

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