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Centipeda – Latin, hundred feet. But who’s counting? The amber-colored ones attract the eye that is always looking for the beautiful. They move with the undulation of a wave. Still, when encountered by surprise – where least expected – they cause a scare as deadly as any, sending the old ticker flopping about like a fish out of water and have you holding your breath long and tight. I felt one crawling up my leg in bed one night, its length too long not to startle me from a sound sleep, too long to keep me indecisive. Leaping out of bed was never so spontaneous an effort, hovering in mid-air, never so pure an act of faith.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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Date: 4/16/2020 8:01:00 PM
I hope you gave it a good home.
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Date: 4/9/2020 7:41:00 AM
I enjoyed this poem a lot more than that centipede that landed on my chest when I opened the cupboard. Being the master hunters that they are, I do not kill them in the house, but do prefer a respectable distance be kept. I hope you are keeping well Mr Rigoler.
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