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 envy ghazaled O envy, root of infinite evils and woodworm of virtues! All vices, Sancho, bring with them some kind of delight, but envy brings nothing but vexation, rancor, and rage. —Miguel de Cervantes Hydra-headed, you. No Heracles, I am being slain. No wonder my favorite color is greenslain. To slay you I slay myself: Mirrors dilate. Looking at you I will be last seen slain. Comparisons caper through my head in bed at night. Why haven’t I scaled the Apennines? Slain. How many parts of lives I’d exchange: job, book, prize . . . Emotional landmines at a party? Preen, slain. Her coat, her house, her love, her life, her reputation. Did I hear someone’s off to the Mediterranean? Slain. How to slay the heads inside without them growing back to poison my sheen: Slain. Sometimes you’re my younger self: Self-envy no oxymoronnor envy of being nineteen: Slain. Count me happy when I can enjoy the lot I’ve been given. Confessing to you, I know it’s quite obscene. Slain. Write to exorciseor exerciseyou with lines, images, rhyme. If Sharon does not from Envy weanslain. ...

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