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Feb 2015
The serpentine
Hissed wit
Whip keen,
Quick as mean,
Flicked tongue
At open sores.
He fancied himself clever;
Surveyed with
Cold red eyes,
Called no one
His better:
This Master of deception.
Others never
Felt the lash,
The cat-tailed snap
Of lips that cracked
A child's
Self-perception.
Francie Lynch
Written by
Francie Lynch
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