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in the dewy kiss
of barefoot summer,
strange new breeze
across my brain,

i slither from
my skin,
a viper,
molting,
jolting me
from a slumber
deeper than death.

behind me the shell
of who i was—
speak to him,
he will not answer.

hollow and brittle;
he now belongs to
wind and rain.
and i am in the
tall grass, new;
venom glistens
on my fangs.